


The Empty Heart

by RudexAndxNotxGinger



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Homosexuality, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Same-Sex Marriage, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudexAndxNotxGinger/pseuds/RudexAndxNotxGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick McLeod is an exotic dancer and an aspiring sociopath. He fills his life with sex, drugs and alcohol to numb the pain deep inside him; to make him forget. He does his absolute best to avoid drama and romance, but fate has another plan for him. And so does his roommate Charlie. M/M Romance. Don't like, don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addictions

The Empty Heart

Addictions

Neon. Will it ever go out of fashion? Patrick sure hoped so; he always thought it was the tackiest thing a business could offer. He much preferred lighted signs or billboards. Ignoring the pink, blazing eyesore that displayed the words “Boyz Club” with a roll of his eyes, the red headed teen walked around the back of the building to the staff entrance.

Once inside, the familiar smell of booze, sweat, and smoke hit him like a ton of bricks; but he’d become used to it over the years; he figured he should, because he was told that it was what Hell smelled like.

“Hey, Patty!” A loud booming voice called out to him and through all the cigarette smoke came Babe, the tallest, buffest, blackest exotic dancer to be seen in all of Nevada. “I hear you turned legal today. Congratulations!”

“Ha-ha, thanks Babe,” Patrick fake laughed in a sarcastic tone. “You know I got emancipated years ago, right? Today’s just another day.”

“Yeah but no matter what age you are, you’re always gonna be the baby of the family!”

Somehow Patrick evaded the eminent lung-crushing hug from Babe as he quipped, “You know that Dax and Jean are younger than me, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re three feet taller!” Irene put in her own hyperbole as she walked into the hallway-turned-extended-dressing-room. The delightful drag queen managed to catch Patrick off guard and give him a wet kiss on the cheek, instantly receiving a cringe in return. “Happy Birthday, Patrick.” Irene’s effeminate voice crooned teasingly as she threw a wink in the boy’s direction before turning on her stilettos and heading to the stairs.

Patrick wiped away the dark maroon lipstick left from Irene’s smooch the moment she left the backstage.

“You’re a little later than usual, Pat.” Gregor, the smoking hot Russian club manager pointed out nonchalantly. Patrick had a hard time making eye contact with the older man that he had an incessant crush on.

“Sorry, my roommate managed to destroy my computer, so I had to go get it repaired by a professional.” It was an outright lie, and he pulled it off beautifully. He was actually late because he and his roommate had a fight, and he had to smoke some weed to calm down before work.

“It makes no difference to me.” Gregor shrugged. “It just means our customers will be even more eager to see you.”

Patrick stripped off his shirt and dropped his pants, completely uninhibited in front of all of the other dancers backstage. Gregor looked away with a frown while the boy took off his underwear and changed into a tight red speedo.

“I have you scheduled for private dances tonight. And since it’s your birthday, you get to keep forty percent of the tips.”

“That’s awfully kind of you.” Patrick stated suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

Patrick stared with a deadpanned glare for a few more moments before the Russian relented. “Alright, you stop offering to suck my cock and you get to keep forty percent tonight. How does that sound?”

“Much better.” Patrick tried handing Gregor the bottle of massage oil, but was turned down with yet another frown.

“You always make sure we’re even; you never want to owe any favors to anyone.” Gregor stated exasperatedly. “Why is that?”

He tried to look away while Patrick vigorously rubbed copious amounts of glittery oil onto his tanned, hairless skin.

The redhead fished out a pair of red flats from his duffel before responding coyly, “Let me know if you change your mind about that blowjob.” And with that Patrick turned away and headed straight towards the door leading to the club floor. Bright strobe lights and loud music assaulted his senses the moment he entered the club’s main seating area. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the flashing lights, but once they did, he put on his innocent, yet sexy smile that never failed to hook the really rich customers, and just stood there, waiting for the men to come to him. And he didn’t have to wait long. In a matter of seconds a tall, blonde, middle aged man came up from behind and touched the boy’s elbow. Patrick turned around, never breaking his demeanor while he looked into the man’s blue eyes with false innocence. He took the offered twenty dollar bill without breaking eye contact and shoved into the waistband of his thong.

“How ‘bout a dance?” The man’s pervy smile could not have been more obvious. But Patrick became accustomed to that smile. He knew that he looked very young; and his slender, petite body type typically attracted the pedophiles and sugar-daddies-seeking-sugar-babies.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Patrick learned to make every transaction seem personal; they were likely to be more satisfied (and more generous) that way.

The man took Patrick’s hand, which surprised him, but he allowed it, and he was led to a comfortable booth seat that faced the gyrating strippers on stage. The man sat down and slouched into a comfortable position more appropriate for a lap dance. Patrick wasted no time in straddling his man’s spindly legs and leaning over him like he would if he were to ride his cock.

“My name is Jim.” The man’s breath was already ragged with arousal.

“Mine’s Phoenix.” Patrick gave his pseudonym as naturally as he would his own name. He was always such a good liar; and not just because he had no conscience, but because he believed his own lies; whether for a moment, or a lifetime, Patrick could purposefully believe his own deceptions with such conviction that he was not, in a sense, really lying. For all the praise that could be spoken of his cunning mind, not much could be said for his memory; for he instantly forgot the man’s name upon whose lap he sat; mostly because he did not care to remember. He rarely gave two seconds of thought about the perverts who came into the club just so they could imagine having sex with an underage boy. He found himself being the surrogate “child” in many customers’ fantasies; some of them were private about it, others were shameless, asking if they could call him by their nephew’s name. It continually disgusted Patrick, somewhere deep inside. But during work hours he was Phoenix, the anything-goes exotic dancer who complied with every one of the customer’s fantasies without a single ounce of judgment.

 

For the remaining seven minutes of the lap dance, Patrick expertly swayed his hips in a way that perfectly simulated a bottoming-from-the-top sex position. He made little gasps and moans in the man’s ear and occasionally leaned away to run his hands all over his shiny, glittery body in such a sensual manner that even the oldest man in the world could not help but get an erection. And this customer was no exception. Amidst the pulsing lights in the dark club, Patrick could see a distinct tent in the man’s trousers. He made a point to brush against it just once, with the inside of his thigh, a few seconds before his time was up. John (or was it James?) looked at the redhead pleadingly, almost whimpering when the dance ended.

“I’ll pay you for another one.” The shaky voice begged. Patrick knew that the man was really saying “Please let me cum.” and he knew better than that. The entire business ran off of angst and sexual frustration. If he gave the man his release he wouldn’t need to come back for another four days, at least. This way he got the man hooked on the arousal; the sensuality and perfection that is Phoenix.

“I have people waiting for me, _daddy_.” Patrick added the nickname to further the man’s arousal. Although the man never said it aloud, Patrick already knew his deep, dark sexual desires. He always knew. “Maybe next time you come to visit me we can have longer fun, hmm?” He chose that moment to nimbly dismount the customer and give him a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving the man completely debauched and with the worst case of blue balls he ever had in his life.

 

 

Ten private dances later, Patrick felt completely and totally at ease with his role again. He had entirely forgotten about the fight with his roommate just a couple hours before, and he exuded the confidence of Phoenix, his alternate persona that knew of nothing but providing arousal and visual pleasure to all (for a price, of course.)

Nearing the end of the night, Patrick wisely expected some of the ‘leftovers’ to approach him for sexual favors. Many club attendees thought that if they stuck around long enough, when most of the paying customers had gone, the strippers would drop to their knees and suck cock for a twenty. And that might have been reality for some clubs, but not this one. Gregor ran a tight ship, and would not allow his employees to have sex (oral or otherwise) in his establishment, under penalty of termination. And Patrick had never broken that rule. Not once. And he had no idea what had gotten into him, but this night in particular he let his mind wander. He thought about what it would be like to have forbidden sex in the club, where no one could see. He even scanned the floor layout for any blind spots, just in case. But Gregor thought of everything, being that the only safe place to hook up with someone would be the bathroom, the least desirable location in all of Nevada. And it’s not that their bathroom was particularly disgusting, but it was the smell that really got to you. By the end of the night, vomit, diarrhea, sex and masturbation had all taken place in that tiny one-stall bathroom and the only way you could go in there to clean it would be with a hazmat suit on. The very thought instantly killed Patrick’s horny mood. An unfamiliar voice drew Patrick out of his thoughts.

“Are you looking for a good time tonight, sweetheart?” A well-built, tanned frat boy with great hair stood a little too close for comfort, but his demeanor seemed nice enough.

“Sorry, not on the menu here.” Patrick answered reluctantly. “If you want a dance I’m still game though.”

“Nah, I’m more into the real thing.” Mr. Brick Wall moved in even closer to the short red head and soon had him cornered against a wall. “I’m really horny tonight,” Frat boy divulged in his obviously buzzed state. “And I think you’re really horny too. What you say we get out of here and maybe go to my place? I have HBO.”

Patrick scoffed, trying not to show his contemplation of the stranger’s offer. “Like we’d really be going to your place to watch HBO.”

“You’re right.” The other conceded. “If you came home with me I’d fuck you all night, in every position I can think of, which believe me, is _a lot_.”

Patrick shuddered visibly at the man’s promise. I had been so long since he’d had a good fuck that he was actually considering saying yes to a man he did not even know the name of. Frat Boy seemed to read Patrick’s mind. “My name is Jason. Most people call me Jas.”

“Nice to meet you Jas, I’m Phoenix.”

“God you’re hot.” The inebriated condition of Patrick’s new friend became more and more apparent the longer the conversation went on, and he found himself hoping that Jas was still sober enough to fuck him good and hard that night. He felt like he needed it so badly.

“Hey Phoenix.” Babe called out from the other side of the room.

Patrick looked over and gave his friend the ‘okay’ nod, indicating that he was alright and didn’t require rescuing. He thought for a moment before sighing, “I get off in five minutes; meet me out back, okay? We’re going to my place. I’m driving.”

Jason looked like the cat that got the cream; pleased as punch and giddy as a school girl. He wordlessly left the club, leaving Patrick to himself for the last five minutes of his shift. But most of the club members had gone; it was nearly three am after all. He decided to turn in his earnings and tips, making sure to record everything exactly the way Gregor insisted on. He wondered why he always pictured himself with Gregor; in all practicality, the Russian’s OCD would drive him nuts if they lived together for just a week.

Before he forgot, Patrick called his roommate, only to be met with the voicemail. “Hey, Charlie. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be using the living room tonight. I have a _friend_ coming over. Please stay out. Thanks.” As he hung up Patrick crossed his fingers that his roommate would get the message before he got home with his “friend.”

 

Soon Patrick walked out of the building, freshly showered and in his street clothes once again.

“What car’s yours?” Jason drawled out, somehow looking even more inebriated than ever.

“It’s the white Focus over there.” Patrick felt his Phoenix persona slipping away piece by piece; it was hard for him to be a stripper when he was fully clothed. Now he just felt like his Plain Jane self; nothing special about him, other than his fiery red hair and generally stoic personality.

“You’re really short you know that?” Jason grinned sloppily, becoming giggly.

“Yeah, that’s genetics for you.” Patrick rolled his eyes, not amused at just how drunk his one-night-stand was. He began to have second thoughts, but by that time he was already driving out of the parking lot with his temporary companion.

 

 

“Wipe your feet, we just cleaned the carpet.” Patrick ushered the slab of marble named Jason into the tidy, small, yet spacious apartment and flicked on the lights.

“We? You live with someone here?”

“Just my roommate, I already told him I’d have company. We’re fine.”

“Him? You live with a dude? Ooh should I be jealous?” Jas, who was slowly revealing the fact that he had not just the body, but also the intelligence of a brick wall, unconsciously raised his voice a notch too high for Patrick’s liking.

“He’s practically my brother, so no,” Patrick buzz-killed efficiently. “And keep your voice down; I have neighbors who actually sleep.”

“So, are we like, gonna do it on the couch?” Jason offered passively, completely devoid of chivalry of any kind. And Patrick didn’t think he needed chivalry or romance, but all of a sudden he didn’t feel in the mood to have sex. Instead of responding, Patrick sighed and plopped himself down onto the middle of the comfy cushions. Jason immediately followed, still grinning like he just won the lottery; and in his own mind, he really had. Phoenix was the hottest piece of tail he’d ever gotten to go home with.

“So, is it okay if I kiss you?” Jason fished hopefully.

“I don’t do kissing. Sorry.” Patrick stated with an empty apology.

“Oh.” The smile disappeared. Half a minute of silence passed when Jason impulsively reached for the tv remote and flicked it on. He scanned through a couple of channels quickly before exclaiming, “Oh cool, the Godzilla remake is on!”

“Oh joy.” Patrick rolled his eyes in growing exasperation.

“Have you seen this?” Jason sounded dumbfounded that someone could have such a non-thrilled reaction to his all-time favorite movie.

“No, I haven’t gotten the chance.” Sarcasm dripped from Patrick’s response; he’d actually avoided watching the movie multiple times. “There’s a reason they show this movie at three-thirty in the morning, you know.”

“Oh nonsense, you’re gonna love it.” Jason promised enthusiastically, the offer for sex seemingly forgotten. “Hey, do you have any popcorn?”

Disbelief struck Patrick like a tidal wave. He could not believe just how much the night seemed to have done a complete turnaround in a matter of seconds. First he was bringing a guy home to get screwed, and before he knows it, he’s having a slumber party movie marathon with a Godzilla fan boy. He stared wide-eyed, still in shock when he mumbled, “Yeah, I’ll get some popcorn.”

“Thanks.” Jason called after him.

Patrick begrudgingly stomped into the kitchen in frustration. How did he lose control of the situation that quickly? Sure, for a moment he was not really in the mood, but he would have gotten into it once it started. Was it the ‘no kissing’ rule? Patrick replayed the scenario in his mind while he tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. He mulled over the possibility that the only way to get Jason to fuck him was to make out with him first. After all, the guy seemed to be the bisexual type; he’d no doubt been with girls primarily. And girls seemed to have much less inhibitions about kissing. But Patrick had barely ever kissed anyone. He first kissed a boy at school in the sixth grade just to ‘make sure’ he was gay, and he had a secret boyfriend for a short time in high school who he kissed once or twice. Other than that, Patrick’s list of men he’d slept with was at least ten times longer than how many times he’d been kissed. He quickly decided against making out with Jason; the lack of experience hurtled him far out of his comfort zone.

A shrill beeping pulled him out of his deep thought and he retrieved the finished popcorn bag. A familiar burst of laughter floated from the living room, bringing an indignant anger to rise in the redhead’s freckled cheeks. He stomped back into the carpeted room much louder than he’d left, only to find not one, but _two_ guys sitting on the couch watching the movie.

“Charlie.” Patrick tried not to seethe.

“Oh hey, he brought the popcorn.” Jason commented, oblivious to the other’s boiling rage.

Charlie, the infamous roommate smiled in faux innocence. “Hey, _Phoenix_ ,” He practically winked upon using Patrick’s stripper name. “I was just getting acquainted with your ‘friend’ here.”

“ _You_ were supposed to stay out!” Patrick hissed. “I left a message on your phone.”

“Hmmm.” Charlie pretended to think long and hard. “I must have missed it; I had no idea you were bringing such a hot and sexy friend home with you.”

Patrick was on the verge of exploding at this point, but he wisely decided to give up. “I’m going to Ben’s house. Have fun with your new friend. _Don’t_ let him throw up on the couch.” With his jaw clenched painfully tight, Patrick pitched the bag of popcorn in the direction of his roommate while practically running to the front door to leave.

As if he’d missed the entire conversation, the drowsy, drunk frat boy spoke up, “Hey, you’re leaving?”

“I’m just popping out for a smoke.” Patrick lied easily while slipping his sandals on. “You have a good time with Charlie, huh? Be right back.” And with that, the redhead was gone. He didn’t even bother to take his keys.

 

“God damn it.” Patrick kicked a rock while he stewed over his situation. He sure hoped Ben would be home; if not, he was screwed. While he walked he tried not to think about the fight with Charlie the previous evening, or what the fight was about.

His entire life all he ever wished for was a life where he could get away with having no moral obligations; no emotions; no one to hurt him. But every twist and turn in his life always brought him closer to what he foresaw as a problem: feelings. He hated them. He wished to the God he didn’t believe in that his emotions and feelings could just be taken away; gone forever. But no matter how hard he tried to alienate himself from his emotions, they never completely left him. He still felt; and that hurt.

 

A few minutes into his walk, the skies broke open into a nearly spontaneous downpour. It was raining; in the desert. Patrick’s skateboard shoes instantly filled with water and began squishing and sloshing as he walked. He looked up to the sky, muttering curses at all the circumstances that brought him into this mess. He just had to get to Ben’s house; take it one step at a time.

His rhythmic, slightly duck-footed walk turned into an automated, robotic action; he was in his zoned thinking again. Soon the awareness of his own body and environment melted around him like candle wax until all that remained were his thoughts. Patrick was all alone in his own mind. He felt nothing; he thought of nothing. In the darkness of the night, through the sheets of cool desert rain, all that existed was himself: Patrick and his empty heart.

 

 

 


	2. Confessions

Chapter Two

Confessions

 

_Knock knock knock… thud thud thud… BANG BANG BANG!_

“Alright alright, I’m coming!” A sleepy voice called out from behind the door. Patrick stood in the townhouse door frame, seeking shelter from the rain, officially soaked from head to toe. The door finally opened, revealing a disheveled, half-naked, stylishly bearded young man.

“Shit Patrick, you know what _time_ it is?” The man rubbed his tired eyes blearily. The very first light of dawn was just beginning to creep through the ebbing rain clouds and onto the vast desert horizon. “You walked here? In the rain?” The man’s observational skills were still kicking in; he was not a morning person.

“Charlie and I had a fight.” Patrick stated flatly. “I forgot my keys and I didn’t want to walk back in there to get them.”

“It must have been a hell of a fight for you to have walked eight miles in this weather. Jesus.”

“Are you gonna invite me in Ben, or you waiting for me to catch pneumonia?” Patrick’s dry sense of humor rarely amused anyone, but this time it cracked a smile out of his friend.

“Why don’t you come in?” The dark haired man led the dripping wet boy into his narrow hallway of a foyer. The cool air conditioned environment instantly sent a violent shiver through Patrick’s soaked body. His teeth chattered loudly and Ben noticed his friend’s distress.

“Here, let’s get you into a warm shower. That’ll help get your temperature up.”

Patrick surprisingly accepted the kind offer and followed Ben into the tiny bathroom just off the hallway.

Ben started the warm water and helped his shivering friend step into the tub, clothes on and all. The warmth felt amazing on Patrick’s skin and he could feel himself warming up in a matter of minutes. Soon, and not too unexpectedly, Patrick heard Ben hopping in behind him, assumedly naked.

“What are you doing?” Patrick groaned ruefully.

“I’m just helping you get your wet clothes off; they’re stuck to your skin.”

Patrick rolled his eyes disbelievingly, but allowed it, even though his better judgment urged him otherwise. He stood there awkwardly under the shower’s heavenly heat while Ben unzipped his lightweight hoodie and peeled it off his lean shoulders. Next came his red tank top, then his khaki shorts. Patrick faced the blank shower wall, keeping his eyes off of Ben while he took off his own shoes and socks. Inevitably, Ben reached for Patrick’s last article of clothing: his underwear. The red spandex boxer briefs clung tightly to his ass and the redhead could only surmise what Ben had going on in his mind. His friend lingered while peeling the fabric down his thighs. Patrick cleared his throat disapprovingly.

“What? It’s not like it’s something I’ve never seen before.” Ben defended in a hushed, amused tone.

“Exactly.” Patrick countered. “You’ve seen it before; so stop staring.”

Suddenly the underwear was left at Patrick ankles and Ben was whispering in his ear. “Have you lost weight?” It wasn’t a compliment. In fact, it was a concerned interrogative.

Patrick rolled his eyes but did not respond to the question. He stepped out of the underwear leg holes and said, “The water’s getting cold; you have a towel?”

Ben turned off the water and stepped out of the shower first. He quickly reappeared holding a fluffy green towel that smelled like Downy dryer sheets. Patrick reveled in the attractive aroma while he quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Thankfully, once he peeled back the plastic curtain, Ben had already pulled on a pair of plaid boxer shorts. It did nothing to hide the obvious erection his friend sported, but Patrick was used to that sort of thing.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” Ben cornered accusingly, worry bleeding through his tone.

“These towels smell so nice. I didn’t figure you for a Downy type of guy.” Patrick evaded quickly.

“My sister was here yesterday; did some cleaning. _Still_ , you have not answered by question. Have you lost weight?”

Patrick scoffed and opened the bathroom door. He was immediately met with a giant wave of cold air from the hallway, so he shut it again. Ben was almost directly in his face when he turned around, catching him off guard. “I’ll rephrase this: I know you’ve lost weight. The question is why.”

“Why?” Patrick echoed, obviously irritated.

“Are you using again?” Ben finally revealed what he really wanted to ask.

Another scoff, “Look, are you going to let me borrow some clothes or are you just going to interrogate me while I’m half naked?”

“Well, _completely_ naked would be my preference, but since I already know your answer to that I’ll let you get dressed.” Ben winked before quickly slipping out of the warm, humid bathroom to retrieve some clothes.

 

“The answer is yes, by the way.” Patrick sighed while staring up at the ceiling, lying on Ben’s luxurious mattress. His friend may have rented a low-class living space, but he sure didn’t skimp on his mattress or bedding quality. The young redhead sunk into the lovely bed as it practically swallowed him up in the huge king-size expanse.

“Yes what?” Ben asked as he carded his fingers through Patrick’s fiery red hair absent mindedly. He still remained in his boxers, much to Patrick’s chagrin.

“Yes, I’m using again.”

“God, I knew it.” The older man sighed. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that.” Patrick scolded softly.

“No, it is. I got you hooked on weed years ago; before _I_ got clean. And I know I never gave you heroin, but I still feel res-”

“It’s not heroin.” Patrick interrupted. “Some guy at work gave me some coke, and-”

“Oh fuck.” Ben kept the pattern of interruption. “Don’t tell me you’re snorting cocaine.” A pregnant silence told him everything. “Oh God…”

“It’s not that bad.” Patrick still refused to face his friend. He just lay there staring upwards while Ben practically curled up to his side, stroking his hair comfortingly; affectionately.

“You say that now, Patrick.” Ben wisely argued. “But soon enough all you’ll be is a drug addled junkie who can’t think about anything but when he can get another fix. You’ll lose your job, and nobody else will hire you. I’m telling you Pat, you’ll think you’re still you, and that you can keep it a secret, but pretty soon, your habit will be more obvious than the nose on your face.”

“You’re probably right.” Patrick admitted numbly.

“I _know_ I’m right, okay? My best friend Reggie was a coke addict; he disappeared before my very eyes until all that remained was a soulless animal that would tear out your throat if you got in the way of his next fix. He died in rehab from heart failure; he was only twenty-six.”

“Shit.” Patrick rightly responded. Ben felt elated that it seemed his rebuke was doing some good.

“Just, please tell me that you’ll quit. I’m worried about you.” Ben gave in to the urge to kiss the back of Patrick’s neck. It was a chaste contact, but it still made Patrick stiffen awkwardly.

“I’ll try to quit, Ben.” He cringed as he felt another small kiss on his neck.

“Promise?” This time the kiss was less chaste, and more like a real, wet kiss.

“I- I promise.” Patrick turned around to face Ben finally, to get him to stop the kissing. “Look, I thought we talked about this.”

Ben frowned disappointedly. “ _We_ didn’t talk about it, _you_ did…”

“You have Percy. We can’t fool around anymore.” Patrick knew that he could not stand on his morality soapbox for long, because Ben knew better than anyone that Patrick had no morals. He just didn’t want drama. That was why he called off any and all sexual properties between him and Ben the moment he got a boyfriend. And Ben had never taken it well.

“I’ve known you for what? Three years now? I was there when you took your first drag of weed. I taught you how to work the pole-”

“Where are you going with this?” Patrick butted in.

“I’m saying that we’ve been in this weird, unofficial, fucked up relationship for three years now. I’ve only been with Percy for five months.”

“We were _never_ in a relationship Ben. We’re friends, and until five months ago, we occasionally fucked while drunk, high, or suffering from blue balls. It was never an emotional thing. Ever.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Ben’s voice raised half a decibel. “Why do you think I settled for Percy?”

Patrick blinked, obviously startled by his friend’s response.

“I needed some emotional connection, Pat. I was still struggling to stay clean and I needed someone to keep me grounded, you know? Someone who would hold my hand while I was going through withdrawal; someone who would at least _kiss_ me goodnight.”

Patrick flinched upon hearing Ben’s confession. He braced himself for the words that he knew were coming next.

“I’ve always loved you Patrick. Always.”

A wave of anger and frustration swept over Patrick like a raging wind, but he forced himself into a stoic expression, as he usually did.

“I just wish you could love me.” Ben whispered in a bittersweet tone. He stroked the side of his friend’s face carefully as he looked into those empty, green eyes. “I wish you were capable of love.”

 

 

 

Once Ben finished his heartfelt confession to his past lover, he left the bedroom to let Patrick get some much-needed sleep; he had stayed up all night after all.

Around three o’clock pm a heavenly smell wafted into the bedroom, waking the sleeping beauty from his peaceful slumber. Patrick wandered around the small, narrow townhouse wearing the borrowed flannel pajama pants until he found Ben in the kitchen, cooking waffles.

“Good afternoon, sleepy head.” Ben smiled warmly; charmingly.

Patrick groaned inwardly at the familiarity of the situation; five months ago he would have been just waking up from the aftermath of a phenomenal round of sex. Ben had always made breakfast after sex. And it didn’t matter what time of the day it was, he only knew how to cook breakfast, it seemed. And he was an excellent cook; every time Patrick ate a meal at Ben’s he always felt like it was the best one yet.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Patrick realized he’d never asked.

“What do you mean?” Ben pried the golden waffle out of the hot iron.

“How did you get to be such a great cook? Who taught you?”

“Nobody, really. I practically raised my four siblings, growing up. Back before people actually got turned in for child neglect, my parents just let us do whatever. I learned to cook out of necessity; it was pretty brutal survival.”

“Huh.” Patrick filed away that information about Ben for the time being. He knew his friend had a crappy childhood; his past drug addictions gave that away. But Ben was still close to his siblings; they visited often. But he never talked about his parents; and Patrick would certainly never ask.

 

“So what was your fight with Charlie all about? You two usually tolerate each other pretty well. What happened?” Ben bravely asked once he set the finished waffles onto the small kitchen table. Patrick took a seat, and stared hungrily at the golden, fluffy waffles, hoping Ben would not press the matter.

“These look amazing Ben. Can you pass me the syrup?”

“Pat.” Ben deadpanned, giving his friend a persuasive stare.

“Fine. I’ll tell you if you pass the syrup.”

Ben conceded to the terms and handed the bottle over. “Alright, now talk.”

“Before I’ve even gotten a chance to try these delightful waffles?” Patrick objected dramatically.

The dark haired man bored his eyes into Patrick’s threateningly.

An exasperated sigh escaped Patrick’s lips before he finally said, “Our mother, Martha, called the other day.”

“Your mother?” Ben started chowing down on his waffle already, earning a sneer from his guest.

“Yeah, our foster mom. Charlie and I aren’t actually related; we were just in the same foster home together.”

“I thought it was something like that… Go on.”

“Well I wasn’t home when she called, but Charlie says that Martha’s got a brain tumor; inoperable, and all that shit.”

“Oh fuck.” In the shock Ben dropped his sticky, syrupy fork to the table, but it went unnoticed.

“Yeah, and Charlie wants to go see her. He says the doctors gave her four, six weeks tops.”

“Shit.”

“You’re telling me.” Patrick put in sarcastically.

“So wait…” Ben furrowed his brow in thought. “What was the fight about then?”

“I’m not going.”

“You’re not going? Why the hell not?” Ben threw up his arms in bewilderment.

“I don’t do well with the whole… dying and dead people thing. It’s… it’s too overwhelming.”

“Nobody ‘does well’ with it, Patrick. You’re supposed to feel sad; she’s your mother for God’s sake.”

“I don’t want to feel _anything_ , Ben. Stop telling me what I’m _supposed_ to feel.” The redhead’s anger bubbled close to the surface, making his ears turn red and his jaw to clench tightly.

Ben wisely kept his mouth shut after that. He felt sorry for his former lover; so hurt and broken. If only he would accept love from him; or anyone for that matter.

“Eat your waffle.” The older man dismissed the subject with a fake smile. He was suddenly not hungry at all.


	3. Indulgences

Chapter Three

Indulgences

 

“Send Gregor my love, will you?” Ben called after Patrick just as he exited the car. It was almost five o’clock and Patrick needed to prepare himself for a long night working at the club.

“I’ll tell him you miss his cock, if that’s what you mean.” Patrick jibed good-naturedly. “And be sure to say ‘fuck you’ to Percy for me.”

“I’ll tell him you miss my cock, if that’s what you mean.” Ben burst into laughter at his own clever turn of phrase.

Patrick gave a small smile and waved his final goodbye and walked down the now warm and dry sidewalk towards his apartment building, happy that Ben was kind enough to give him a ride home.

But the comment he made to his friend made him think about he and Gregor. Ben was the only exotic dancer that ever got Gregor to break his own rule to never have sex with an employee. And Ben never gave away his secret to how he managed to seduce one of the most seemingly celibate creatures in the world, even though Patrick asked him constantly. Time after time Patrick tried different methods to get Gregor in bed with him; something he never had to work for, even with straight guys. But the Russian could not be moved, it seemed, and everyone else at Boyz Club had been turned down a time or two; except Ben. And Ben no longer worked there anymore. He had a “real” dancing job now: professional choreographer. He’d worked long and hard with plenty of schooling (funded by his stripper job, of course) and he now made a minimum of eighteen dollars an hour teaching performers in Las Vegas and Reno. Why Ben never got a better apartment Patrick never understood.

Sooner than he’d like, Patrick realized that he was just standing at the door of his apartment, making no movement to open it. Charlie opened it for him. The brunette looked at him with a small, innocent, hopeful smile; Patrick hated that smile. Faced with his long-time roommate, Patrick’s cheery mood plummeted to crabby and irritable in an instant. “Charlie.” He greeted curtly while he shoved himself inside the door’s cracked opening.

“You spend the night at Ben’s?” Charlie followed after Patrick, closing the door quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Patrick rolled his eyes as he walked toward the small, shared bathroom. He shut the door behind him, sealing himself off from his annoying friend. And as usual, Charlie didn’t get the hint. “You told me you and him were done; that he has a boyfriend now.” Charlie’s worry and jealously carried through the cheap pressboard door. The redhead groaned ruefully. Why did he ever tell Charlie about anything? All he ever seemed to do was nag and worry.

“Charlie, just go away, I’ve got to get ready for work.”

There was silence for a moment, and Patrick hoped that maybe his time of torture was over. But he had no such luck.

“Nothing happened between us, by the way.” A softer tone said on the other side of the bathroom door.

“With who?” Patrick grappled to remember what Charlie referred to.

“With Jason. We just talked and watched a few movies. He went home a few hours ago. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Patrick had almost entirely forgotten about Jason, and now it just seemed like a thing of the past.

“Well I don’t want to know. I don’t give a fuck about who you sleep with or not.” Patrick knew it was harsh, but he had to somehow end the conversation; he really did have a lot of work to do. He started to strip off his clothes, inspecting his skin closely for any hair re-growth. Exotic dancing demanded perfection from the imperfect; the illusion must be maintained.

“Did you sleep with Ben?” Charlie’s soft, concerned voice interrupted Patrick’s concentrated inspection of his body.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘sleep with.’ We slept in the same bed, doesn’t mean we had sex.”

“You know I really dislike it when you answer cryptically. Did you have sex or not?” Charlie’s voice kept its calm, collected demeanor as usual. Patrick hated it when Charlie couldn’t be provoked to anger quickly; it made him feel like he was a grade school bully, taunting his innocent friend to frustration. “Gee Charlie, I’m no professional, but I think you should file that under ‘None-of-your-goddamn-business.’”

A sigh came from the other side of the bathroom door, and a couple of creaky footsteps indicated that he’d finally left. Patrick took no time to feel guilty about hurting Charlie’s feelings. He had work to get done.

 

 

“Hey Patty!” Babe called out to the redhead as soon as he was spotted backstage. “You’re killing them out there! I’ve never seen such a hullabaloo over a dance!”

“That’s _Phoenix_ to you.” Patrick corrected snidely. “And thanks. I got a little bit out of my comfort zone this time, but it was definitely worth it.” He motioned to all the cash tucked into the waistband of his red Speedo shorts.

“Dax was watching from backstage.” Babe relayed amusedly. “You should have seen the look on his face. He turns back to me, white as a sheet, and says, ‘He’s fucking himself onstage!’” Babe’s loud, hysterical laugh rang through the back room as he put his arm around Patrick to support himself.

“I was just using two fingers, Babe, it’s nothing to pee your pants over.”

Babe recovered from his laughter quickly so he could respond. “Yeah, but you showed it off to the whole crowd! I mean, I’ve seen some of our guys stick their hand in their pants and give the impression that they’re puttin’ fingers up their ass, but nothing like that! Pattie, you’ve got some balls to be showing off all your merchandise like that.”

“Don’t you mean _my_ merchandise?” Gregor appeared out of nowhere, butting into the conversation. The man’s usually pleased, stoned expression was replaced by a stern one.

“Uh-oh, I’ll see you around Phee. I’ve got some, uh… time cards to fill out,” Babe wisely made himself scarce. It was comical, because Babe weighed at least a hundred pounds more than Gregor in sheer muscle mass, yet the Russian man could stir fear in even the toughest of hearts.

“Let’s go have a talk, shall we Patrick?” Gregor put his arm around the dancer, automatically leading him down the long corridor to the boss’s office: a place nobody went unless they were in big trouble.

The young ginger tried not to feel the impending sense of doom as Gregor ushered him to sit in the chair opposite his desk. He couldn’t help but notice that Gregor looked like a Russian mob boss, slouching comfortably in his leather high-backed chair, swaying to and fro, left and right. Finally he spoke. “I think we both know what the problem is here.”

Patrick allowed an awkward silence before answering, “That I changed the routine without permission?”

“No no, I’m talking about the core problem; the reason you broke the routine.” Gregor’s thick Russian accent seemed even stronger as he said it.

“I’m not following.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” The man really knew how to get to the point. Patrick sighed contemplatively, looking through his mental calendar, trying to get an exact date. “It’s been about five months.”

“Five months.” Gregor echoed disbelievingly. “Why? You becoming celibate or something?”

“What? No! God, no. I’ve just… had a hard time getting lucky is all.” A blush rose to his cheeks as he thought of the conundrum with Jas the night before.

“I understand.” Gregor said unexpectedly. He rose from his chair and motioned for Patrick to follow him to the sofa sitting against the other wall. Patrick obeyed cautiously. The leather cushions squeaked as the two sat down. “I understand.” Gregor repeated. “Tell me about the problem that’s been bothering you. Why have you been feeling so… cock-blocked?”

Patrick raised his eyebrows at his boss’ perceptiveness. “I’ve… been, having trouble with my brother, Charlie.”

“Mmhmm…” Gregor urged him to go on.

“And my mother’s dying.”

“Mmhmm…”

“And… I think that’s it.” Patrick fibbed. He knew there was one more thing; something he’d never told anyone.

“You’re lying.” The Russian accused casually. “There is definitely something bigger keeping you from feeling horny. What is it?”

Patrick sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was just about to tell his boss, who was normally so cold and distant, about the biggest, most embarrassing thing about his life. He took a deep breath, and he just went for it. “Charlie says he’s in love with me.”

“Hm.” Gregor hummed in surprise. “Your brother.”

“Well, he’s not technically, or legally my brother, but yeah. We grew up together for the last ten years; he’s a brother to me.”

“And you have no feelings for him.”

“God no.” Patrick replied honestly. “I just… can’t imagine having feelings for such an ugly, smug, know-it-all computer nerd like him. The only reason we’re still roommates is because I’m too afraid to get a new one; I’m used to Charlie; I can handle him. He’s predictable.”

“I understand.” Gregor said with an unusual soothing tone.

Patrick nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his thigh. He gulped nervously, not clear on where this was heading. “What are you doing, Gre-”

“Shhh…” The man interrupted softly. “No more talk. I’m going to help you.”

“On what condition?” Patrick’s mistrusting nature coming out. He felt the hand on his thigh move closer to his crotch.

“On the condition that you don’t change routine without running it by me first,” Gregor offered reasonably.

“Deal.” Patrick responded almost automatically. His heart fluttered in his chest at the prospect of finally having sex with his boss; something he’d wanted for such a long time.

In a flash, the Russian man peeled the red thong off the boy’s thighs, revealing a half-hard cock, getting ready for a good time. Within seconds the organ filled to complete hardness under the older man’s lustful gaze. Gregor dismounted the couch and immediately positioned Patrick so that he could kneel right between his legs, with his face right in the boy’s crotch.

Patrick shivered with delightful anticipation the moment he felt Gregor’s warm breath on his cock. It had been so long since someone took the time to give him a blowjob. The Russian wasted no time in taking the swollen head into his mouth, sucking and licking it like a candy. Patrick moaned loudly in response, thoroughly enjoying the attention. His cock wasn’t very big in comparison to the other exotic dancers’, but it was proportional to the rest of his petite body. Gregor had no difficulty taking the entire length into his warm, soft mouth and sucking as if his life depended on it. Patrick felt himself approaching the edge of orgasm embarrassingly quickly. It had been five months, after all, and at least a few weeks since he jerked off.

“I’m close.” He warned the man between his legs, who immediately pulled away.

“Really, Patrick. Already?” Gregor pretended to scold, while he really looked quite pleased with himself.

“Let me do you.” The other offered eagerly. Much to his surprise, Gregor agreed. The redhead pounced off the couch and Gregor stood up as well. Patrick made quick work of the skinny man’s belt buckle and trouser button. The clothes soon feel to the floor, along with a t-shirt and pair of boxer briefs.

Without further ado Patrick sunk to his knees. He took a moment to gaze at the long, thick, uncut cock jutting out towards his face; it was almost as big as Ben’s. He sucked on the thick girth with little difficulty; this was far from his first time after all. Patrick lost count of how many men he’d sucked off in the last three years, but it was somewhere around forty-seven.

Gregor rewarded Patrick’s eager, skilled efforts with loud, delighted moans. The boy let it go to his head, as usual. And he kept on sucking, even harder this time. Feeling lost in the heat of the moment, Gregor held the boy’s head still as he thrust his hips gently, forcing the cock deep into Patrick’s tight throat. The boy didn’t mind all that much; he was used to deep-throating, it just wasn’t his favorite method.

“Fuck, I’ve bet you’ve done this lots of times, haven’t you, little slut?” Gregor pulled out the dirty talk just in time. Patrick loved dirty talk, and it made him forget the burning stretch in his throat. When the opportunity arose, the redhead hummed lustily in response to the man’s question, sending torturous vibrations onto the cock pummeling his mouth

.“Just how many men have you sucked, huh? Twenty? Thirty? Forty?”

Patrick hummed at the last number, indicating his answer.

“You really are a slut.”Gregor unexpectedly pulled out of the boy’s mouth in one quick motion, leaving the boy to cough and catch his breath.

“Get on your knees; on the couch.” Patrick obeyed the order instantly, even though he still had slobber all over his lips from all the sucking. He positioned himself on the seat, his body facing the back of the couch. Sticking his ass out invitingly, Patrick knew for sure that his boss was finally going to fuck him.

The Russian rifled around his desk drawer for a few seconds before returning to his horny dancer. Patrick heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and a click of a lube cap. He braced himself for the cold lubricant, but nothing happened. He turned around to look, and Gregor was slicking the lubricant on the condom instead. The Russian noticed his staring. “I think you’re stretched enough. After all, you worked yourself open in front of all my customers. Didn’t you, slut?”

“Yesssss,” Patrick moaned in blissful arousal at the idea of getting fucked with little prep. He’d done it before, but not for a very long time. He faced the wall again; he knew that’s what Gregor wanted, and in a moment he was rewarded with the blunt tip of the man’s large cock pressing at his entrance. Gregor went slow, but firm as he worked his way into the tiny opening.

“Oh fuck… You’re awfully tight for a slut.” Gregor slapped the tempting, smooth butt cheek, sending another spark of pleasure through the boy beneath him. Soon, but all too torturously slow, Gregor was finally balls deep inside the tiny ginger. He didn’t wait for Patrick to adjust to his size before thrusting in and out at a brutal pace.

Patrick groaned in objection at first, but he forced himself to relax and just take it; a good hard fuck is what he wanted, after all.

“Look at you, slut, just taking my cock like this. I wonder if I could get you to come just by fucking you.”

Patrick wordlessly agreed with another loud moan. Many guys have tried that very same thing, but usually got impatient and gave up the idea. But Patrick had high hopes for Gregor; he was already turning out to be an incredible sex partner.

“Maybe just one cock isn’t enough for you.” Gregor taunted lustily. His breathing was ragged but his voice still stayed perfectly deep and composed. “Perhaps we should call Babe in here.” Patrick felt a sudden rush of arousal at the idea of being fucked by two men at once. Suddenly the edge of orgasm seemed much closer. He let his imagination go wild as Gregor continued, “I could have you sit on his cock right here on the couch. Have him split you open so wide on that massive cock while I fuck you from behind. How does that sound?”

“Oh God yes!” Patrick shouted in response just as the cock inside of him rammed at the sensitive prostate gland.

“But are you sure that’s enough for you slut? Maybe I have to pull out one of the sex toys I keep in my desk, hmm? I could fuck you with my cock while I shove a vibrator inside-”

That was all it took. Gregor’s unlawfully sexy dirty talk, along with Patrick’s imagination combined into a perfect formula for an orgasm. Patrick flew over the edge into ecstasy as his cum spurted onto the leather cushions. The orgasm took him so high that he wasn’t even aware of his loud scream while riding the wave of intense pleasure.

Gregor was not too far behind him. Once Patrick’s senses started returning, he felt the man’s thrusting hips slow and stutter in their movements and a deep, satisfying groan escape the Russian’s lips. A few second later, Patrick fell into a sated state of unconsciousness. He heard nothing; he needed nothing. And most importantly, he felt nothing.


	4. Discoveries

Chapter Four

Discoveries

 

Patrick awoke to the pulsing throb of club music and the sharp smell of whiskey. He looked around the dark room, mind foggy and eye bleary with sleep. How long had he been out? He remembered the mind-blowing sex he had with Gregor that night and he then realized where he was: the boss’ office. He scrounged around the floor searching for his clothes, only to realize that he was already dressed in his Speedo, the only thing he was wearing to begin with. He surmised that Gregor put the underwear on for him; such a gentleman. Floundering around the darkness, looking for a light switch, Patrick managed to jamb his knee into every existing surface in the room. He cursed and grumbled until he finally found the switch. He forgot to brace himself for the sudden light and he was temporarily blinded by it. Once his eyes adjusted, he noticed a note on the coffee table near the couch. It was a small white card with Gregor’s neat handwriting on it. It read ‘ _Patrick, take the rest of the night off. I’ll see you Wednesday. Thank you for the good time. You really are a good fuck. Maybe I will need to help you out in the future? Let me know. – Gregor Y._ ’

Patrick couldn’t help the flutter of butterflies in his stomach upon reading the note. He picked it up to put it in his pocket. To his surprise a cloud of white powder floated to the floor. He hadn’t noticed the substance before, but he gathered that his boss left him some cocaine on the card as a gift; it was a shame he just dumped it all over carpet. His promise to Ben sprang to mind, but he ignored it. It’s not like he broke his promise, but the fact that he would have didn’t bother him either. And why should it? Patrick had no conscience. He had no soul. Or so it appeared…

 

Patrick pondered about his good fortune as he drove home at four in the morning. Things seemed to be looking up, for once. His job was doing well, and he was now bringing in enough money that he might be able to afford an apartment all on his own. The man he’d been lusting after for years finally reciprocated his desires; and it was fantastic. And lastly, but certainly not least, he hadn’t really felt withdrawal from cocaine yet. In fact he seemed to feel pretty normal without it. Perhaps things would continue to get better; maybe Charlie would finally move out and get on with his life. Patrick shook his head at that thought. His luck would never get _that_ good. No matter how shitty he treated Charlie, he always came back for more.

“Stupid, naïve bastard,” Patrick mumbled aloud as he briefly thought of Charlie’s affections towards him. And it hadn’t been a sudden thing. Over the years, growing up with Charlie, Patrick was blind to the fact that his ‘brother’ became far too attached to him; emotionally and physically. They shared a room in their foster home growing up, and often a bed too; Charlie had waking nightmares almost every night. And in high school Charlie never got a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, but instead hung out with Patrick every waking hour. Patrick knew he should have seen the signs; that his brother was hopelessly in love with him for years, secretly, and now recently proclaimed, unrequited. He had no idea what to do about it except what he did best: ignore it.

 

 

“I thought you’d be home earlier,” The first words out of Charlie’s mouth when Patrick got home to his apartment.

“And I thought you’d be in bed.” Patrick kicked off his sandals sloppily, not caring where they went. “Don’t you have work in like, three hours?”

“Two and a half.” Charlie said regretfully. “And I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you.”

“Well you wasted your time. I’m fine. I’m _always_ fine.”

Charlie looked more hurt than usual, and he responded with a soft voice. “You’re not always fine, Patrick. You-you just act like you’re okay. If you looked into your heart for one second you’d see that I’m right. You’re hurting just like me… And that’s okay.”

Despite the puppy dog eyes and the soft voice, Charlie’s words made Patrick angry. He tried to contain it in his trusty internal combustion chamber, but some managed to leak out. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Stop trying to turn me into a weakling like you. I’m stronger than you. I’ve _always_ been stronger than you. Just because _you_ can’t handle real life doesn’t mean you should drag _me_ down with you.” And with that, he was gone. He slammed the door to his bedroom, making it clear that the conversation was officially over.

Standing alone in his room, still seething over the fight with Charlie, Patrick felt one solitary tear escape his control and slide down his cheek. He touched it with his hand and looked at the salty smear disbelievingly. How long had it been since he cried? He lost count of the years, but he suspected that he was around eight or nine the last time. He tried to shake off the feeling, but somewhere in his mind Patrick knew that Charlie had struck a chord with him; deep inside he knew Charlie was right.

 

 

Monday afternoon came around much faster than Patrick wanted it to. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get back to sleep, but his body simply would not allow it. After eight hours or nine hours of rest Patrick’s mind automatically woke up, and try as he might he could never sleep longer. Charlie on the other hand, could sleep for days if he wanted; and he sometimes went without it all together for the better half of a week. The list of polar opposites in the two brothers would go on for miles; they had nothing in common, it seemed.

Patrick went through the motions on his daily routine: Breakfast, physical exercise, shower, brush teeth, and catch up on some reading. Old fashioned in only the oddest of ways, he drank tea while reading the daily newspaper, and even made it halfway through a crossword puzzle. While sitting on the couch Patrick noticed his roommates’ laptop sitting on the small table. Charlie must have forgotten to take it with him to work. Patrick was never a computer person, and didn’t have his own email address. But for some strange reason he felt compelled to pick up the laptop and turn it on.

The screen flicked to life and the login prompt appeared immediately. Patrick thought for a moment before taking a wild guess at what the password might be. “ _I love Patrick_ ” The ginger typed snidely. But it was incorrect. He took a couple other wild guesses before stopping to think. He thought of things in Charlie’s life that might mean something to him, thinking all the way back before he and Charlie moved into an apartment together three years prior. Suddenly the name of Charlie’s cat, Yosemite, came to mind. The dumb old cat died years ago, but it was always Charlie’s favorite. Patrick typed it into the password field carefully, making sure not to misspell it. It worked. The computer loaded the desktop settings while Patrick grinned victoriously over his clever hacking skills.

Although he had very little internet experience, the first thing he clicked on was the web browser.

“Alright Charlie, you pervert. Let’s see what kind of websites you’ve been on, hmm?” Patrick scrolled through the recent history library, mostly finding a bunch of forum pages about computer programming. He instinctively yawned at the sight of all the weird nerdy names for the web pages and continued searching. Eventually Patrick found the “most frequently visited” section, which piqued his interest greatly. Surprisingly (and disappointedly,) no porn sites could be found in the history or bookmarks. But another page caught the boy’s eye; one that almost caused a state of alarm upon reading the title: “Living with Phoenix: the story of a spurned love.” Patrick instantly clicked on it, and anxiously waited for it to load. Once the entire page appeared, he scourged its contents, beyond curious as to what it could be. It looked like a blog; written by Charlie. Even in the bio picture there was a geeky photo of him. The stories inside of it varied from diary-type entries, short stories, all the way to love letters. Patrick felt sick to his stomach reading all the romantic garbage and fluff his pseudo older brother wrote about him, and to him. He didn’t read it all, it would take all day; but it was enough for him. He decided to look at a few of the comments left by readers.

“Charlie, I feel for you. I too have an unrequited love. Maybe we should talk sometime?”

“These writings are so beautiful. You should write poetry.”

“Your letter to Phoenix made me cry. It was amazing. You have real writing talent. Keep writing from your heart.”

“Dude, you need to move on. He obviously doesn’t deserve you.”

Patrick scoffed at the last one, agreeing with only the first half of it. It wasn’t about deserving someone; it was about compatibility and desire. He and Charlie were not compatible, and he certainly didn’t desire him, no matter how intensely the other pined.

As much as Patrick wanted to get riled up and mad about Charlie making a blog about him, he just found himself feeling sorry for the poor sap. The guy was weak; he needed affection and romance to keep himself together. He couldn’t get it in the real world, so he turned to the internet for attention and acceptance. It all made sense to Patrick; in a sad, pathetic sort of way.

 

Throughout the afternoon Patrick wondered whether or not he should bring up the subject of the blog. Charlie often came home around seven, so he didn’t have much time. He returned the laptop back to its original position so Charlie wouldn’t suspect anything. He began to feel a tad bit of anxiety when a scary thought popped into his head: What if someone found him? It sent a chill down his spine to think that a reader of the blog might actually find him, or know him, in “real life.” He decided then that he had to talk to Charlie about it; the risk was too great, in his mind. Knowing very little about the internet, Patrick perceived the community to be rather tight knit; organized, and relatively small. Long-forgotten paranoia kicked in and he felt a small panic attack rising to the surface. A noise at the door snapped him out of his panicked haze.

 

Charlie opened the door hurriedly, bustling in with a few bags of groceries. “I bring a peace offering.” The brunette said good-naturedly. “I bought you some ice cream; raspberry cheesecake, your favorite.”

“I’m not hungry.” Patrick stated bluntly.

“Well, okay, then. You can save it for later.” Charlie’s spirits were slightly dampened by his roommate’s continued coldness.

“What’s all the food for?”

“I thought you might need some food while I’m gone, and I know how much you hate shopping, so I got you some stuff.”

Patrick balked at the words ‘while I’m gone,’ because he’d almost completely forgotten that Charlie was going somewhere. “So you’re really going. Your boss was okay with that?”

“Well yeah. ‘Mother dying’ is _sort of_ an acceptable family emergency. They gave me the time off right away.” Charlie sighed and carried the bags into the kitchen to put them away. Patrick followed.

“Wow.” The redhead began sarcastically. “What are those poor old ladies going to do without you when their computers freeze up?”

Charlie shoved a gallon of milk into the fridge rather roughly before responding with forced patience, “I’m not teaching old people anymore, Pat. I told you that like, three months ago. I’m tutoring at the college for C and Java programming… And I’ll only be gone a week. Think you can survive without me?”

Patrick scoffed. “That’s a better question for _you_ , don’t you think? _You’re_ the pervert here.”

“Great so I’m a pervert now?” The older boy sighed ruefully before shutting the newly restocked refrigerator.

“You’ve always been a pervert. I found your blog.”

Charlie instantly froze. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights; the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Patrick grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I saw all those smutty, sappy writings you put online about me. It’s sick; _you’re_ sick. You need help.”

Charlie’s face grew red and he looked like he might cry; a reaction Patrick hadn’t planned for. Instead of speaking Charlie pushed past his brother and stomped into the living room.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked exasperatedly when he followed Charlie into the living room, only to see him donning his shoes and jacket.

“Victor has a _Magic: the Gathering_ game going on tonight. I told him I’d be there at eight.” The brunette’s voice had a hint of a sob behind his voice and Patrick was pretty sure he heard a sniffle just before his roommate left the apartment. Sympathy and guilt began to sneak past Patrick’s thoroughly built wall, but he shoved it away. He hadn’t gone through so much trouble to cut himself off from his conscience just to have it all ruined now. He lived life for himself, and that should be enough. But deep down inside, however, Patrick knew that it would never be enough. No matter how hard he tried to delude himself he knew that being alone is not what he truly wanted. What he really wanted was to be loved. But he couldn’t be that vulnerable; he couldn’t let himself get hurt. Patrick already resigned himself to the fact that he could never love, or be loved in return. He knew that he would always have an empty heart.


	5. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry It took me so long to update. Work, family, blah-blah-blah. Enjoy the fifth chapter! Things are really getting interesting!

Chapter Five

Revelations

 

“When I said I would see you Wednesday, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Gregor looked amused when he opened the door to greet his unexpected guest.

“When you said you had a house on Hazelwood, this is not exactly what _I_ had in mind.” Patrick took another long moment to take in the beauty of the building before him. It nearly qualified as a mansion.

“Would you like to come in, or do you want to admire the new paint job some more?”

Patrick took the invitation without a moment’s hesitation, but taking care to wipe his feet on the doormat first; he knew just how much of a neat-freak Gregor was. Inside the large, spacious foyer it smelled very strongly of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was in perfect condition and neatly arranged to look attractive, yet not very homey. Sort of like those beautiful interior design magazine displays; you think that they’re pretty, but not practical enough to be comfortable.

 

Gregor led the speechless boy around the downstairs, ending up in the kitchen, which was also sickeningly clean and spotless.

“You want some coffee?” The Russian offered politely, already knowing Patrick’s answer and pouring two cups from the freshly made pot. They both drank it black, no sugar, sitting mostly in silence while the loud ticking of the wall clock faithfully punctuated every passing moment.

“So…” Patrick began awkwardly. “You live here alone?”

“Mostly,” Gregor answered vaguely.

“And you can _afford_ a house like this? By yourself? From the club?”

“Mostly,” a cunning smile crept across the older man’s features. “I have a few other venues; other ways to make some cash.”

“You mean drugs.” Patrick stated bluntly, remembering the night Gregor left him some cocaine after sex.

Gregor shrugged. “That and some other things.”

Patrick dropped the subject and stared into his empty coffee mug. After a few moments silence he spoke, “You said that if I needed any more… _help_ , I should come to you.”

A broad grin took over Gregor’s unshaven face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

 

Hours later, well into the afternoon, Patrick awoke to the smell of cinnamon and too-much fabric softener. His nose nuzzled affectionately into the soft, silky sheets that must have had an astronomical thread count. A small noise came from behind and the memory of the last few hours crept back slowly. He and Gregor had sex, again. And it was amazing. Patrick noticed a small pool of drool soaking the sheets beneath his chin. He must have passed out after his second orgasm; he didn’t normally drool in his sleep unless he was especially wasted. And boy was he ever a wreck, after Gregor was through with him. They must have fucked for at least a half an hour straight, and in just about every position Patrick knew. He came twice, and Gregor once. He tried to recall whether or not they used a condom, but for some strange reason he couldn’t get himself to care too much about it.

The rustling behind Patrick grew louder and Gregor rolled over sleepily so he could spoon-cuddle the young redhead.

Patrick wriggled his ass against the soft groin behind him, attempting to arouse his partner again while pretending to just stir in his sleep.

A chuckle came from the sleepy man behind him; he saw right through the boy’s little game. “Nice try, Patrick, but I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Patrick smiled in response. “Is that a challenge?” He kept his voice low, trying to keep the nice cuddly and sleepy mood going.

“If you could get me to go again today, I would grant you three wishes. I would even tell you my age.”

“I already know your age.” A bluff, expertly delivered. “You’re forty-two.”

“Ha! You flatter me.” The hairy (but not too hairy) Russian hugged the boy tightly to his chest. He drifted off to sleep again moments later. Patrick noticed the snoring for the first time. Man, he must have _really_ been out to have not heard it earlier.

The redhead got bored just laying there wide awake. He had an awfully strange sleeping schedule during the workweek, which was Wednesday through Sunday for him. He would often sleep from three am until noon, and then work from five pm until two. It worked out well since he hated mornings. His days off were often spent catching up with his body upkeep regiment. Waxing, plucking, shaving, working out; he always had to look perfect in his line of work.

A few minutes of waiting were all Patrick’s patience could handle. He decided to wake his boss.

“Gregor?”

“Hmm?” The raspy, groggy voice responded.

“Could I come by some other time? Would that be okay?”

Gregor cleared his throat and rolled over to stretch, forcing himself to wake up a bit more. Once he’d finished, he sat up on the mattress. Patrick followed.

“Are you asking for us to date?” The older man rubbed his eyes, still coming out of the sleepy haze.

“No, I meant sex. Would it be okay for me to stop by and have sex with you again? I… really enjoy it, with you.”

The Russian seemed relieved that Patrick didn’t want a relationship, but he still appeared to be contemplating something in his mind. “I do have _other_ friends you understand… But if you call or text me, ahead of time, I don’t see why not.”

Patrick nodded, refusing to feel any jealousy at the mention of the other “friends.”

“I need to get ready for work; and so do you, I imagine.”

Patrick nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with the other man. It seemed unfair. This was the second time in his life that he found someone he could tolerate the idea of co-existing with them exclusively. He never thought of it as love, merely tolerance; affectionate tolerance. And this was the second time that the man he wanted to affectionately tolerate exclusively for a long period of time was completely uninterested in that kind of agreement. Ben wanted love and romance, and Gregor wanted multiple, anonymous trysts. Two opposite kinds of people; Patrick really knew how to pick ‘em. Although he left room for the possibility that his relationship restrictions were a little unusual, if not rare, Patrick wondered if he’d ever find the right someone; the person with whom he could co-exist peacefully, with no drama; and most importantly, no pain.

 

 

 

Patrick never would have guessed that the man he sought was right under his nose the entire time.

 

 

 

“You’ve got a line of requests tonight, Pat.” Dax, who was the youngest (but nearly the tallest) exotic dancer, tried to hide his jealousy when the famed redhead walked through the door.

“Don’t look so happy about it, Dax.” Patrick quipped sarcastically. “It’s not like _I_ keep the money. It goes to the club. It goes without saying that if people want my ass so bad, that’s keeping you in a job.”

A series of teasing hoots went through the back room, making Dax blush a beet red. He was never the star dancer at the club, or anywhere for that matter. He really only got the job because they were desperate; and he fit the minimum qualifications: skinny, good hygiene, no acne, and at least generically handsome. And to Irene’s horror, the hiring policy didn’t include “no farmer’s tan” which was possibly the most off-putting thing about Dax’s appearance. All the strippers and dancers strutted around the club with no shirt on, and Irene did her best to slather spray tan all over the boy’s paler-than-pale torso, but it just looked worse.

“You want some advice, Daxie?” Patrick threw out just as he was about to head to the club floor. “Put a shirt on. You look like an Oreo.”

 

 

 

Throughout the night, Patrick - or rather, _Phoenix_ – filled up his entire work shift with all the men that waited for the private dances they booked ahead of time. Some were returning customers that he recognized, but others seemed to be new; funny, because usually only the returning customers asked for him specifically. He shrugged off the oddity for the time being, and danced the night away. And Gregor’s “sex therapy” seemed to work its magic; he didn’t feel horny at all throughout the evening, and certainly not deprived. One might think that being horny would be a good thing for an exotic dancer, but it would only cloud Patrick’s mind and make him want to just get home so he could jerk off. And it really showed. Customers could tell when Patrick’s mind was elsewhere, and it affected his tips more than he was willing to lose.

After the fifth new customer of the evening, Patrick became even more suspicious. Was the club really getting that popular? And how was it that complete strangers knew to ask for him by name? He decided that he couldn’t stand to wait until after his shift to ask Gregor. He just had to know.

 

“Hey, can I come in?” Patrick poked his head into the small office, unnecessarily cautious that he might find his boss fucking someone else. He really had to get that jealousy thing out of his mind.

“It’s not the end of your shift yet. What are you doing in here?”

“I was wondering about the new customers...?” Patrick sounded dumb even to his own ears.

“What about them? They are _paying_ , yes?”

“Yes, that’s all fine. But… where’d they all come from? I’ve never been in demand this much. And the guys… they’re not the weird pedophiles I usually get, they’re…. _normal_.”

“Would you rather the pedophiles instead?” The club owner’s voice took on a manipulative edge.

“No! God, no. I was just… Never mind, sorry I wasted your time.” Patrick’s cheeks turned a bright red while he bowed out of the office doorway. Groaning inwardly at his own stupidity, he shuffled back into his scene, hoping no one missed his absence.

 

Well into the wee hours of the morning, Patrick was getting exhausted. It took so much work to get these normal guys to be satisfied, or turned on by his dances. Typically his body - petite, skinny, and hairless as it were - was enough to turn on all the perverts. But this new set of customers was a whole lot more work. He had to gyrate his hips faster, more provocatively, give them lustful looks, and moan obscene things in their ear in order to leave them hot and horny. Anything less was considered a failure, in Patrick’s book.

 

 

“You look a little young to be dancing.”

Patrick began his routine for what had to be the twentieth time that evening. The man he sat atop seemed to be so much of a square that he wondered how on earth the guy could have heard of the club, let alone requested his tiny ass specifically. The anomaly was really starting to get on his nerves. Just where were these guys coming from?

“Am I old enough to turn you on? Do I make you hot?” Patrick whispered with false promise behind his words.

The customer, duly named “Square” in Patrick’s mind, looked completely disinterested in the lap dance. “How old are you, anyway? You look young enough to be in middle school.”

That one hurt Patrick’s pride, right down to the bone. “I’m old enough. Now why don’t you sit back and enjoy your dance?” He tried to emphasize his point by guiding the man’s shoulders towards the back cushion, but Square pushed back. “No thanks, I’m not really here for a dance.”

“Then what _are_ you here for, Daddy?” Patrick pouted, pretending to be hurt that the man didn’t want him.

“ _Stop_ that, you’re just making a fool of yourself. _God_ , have you no shame at all?” Square huffed and ran fingers through his spiky, gel-crusted hair.

“If you don’t want a dance I’m going to have to go, I have people waiting…” The redhead began to dismount the man’s lap when his wrist was suddenly gripped tightly.

“Look, I’m a cop.” Square hissed into his ear. “I have a few questions to ask you. If you refuse to answer them I will _arrest_ you for obstruction of justice.”

Patrick’s eyes widened fearfully, in alarm. A cop? Why on earth did a cop want to talk to him?

“Am I in trouble?” Patrick, his snarky and arrogant façade completely gone, now showed his scared and vulnerable state that was there all along. He didn’t even think to ask to see the cop’s badge, he was so terrified.

“Not if you help me.” The cop seemed to want Patrick to stay straddling his lap, perhaps to keep up appearances and not arouse suspicion.

“I’m investigating serious allegations that there are both minors and illegal immigrants working at this club. Any information that you can give me on that?”

Patrick froze. Illegal immigrants? Was he talking about Jean? And everyone knew that Dax was turning eighteen in a few months, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, right?

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Patrick lied nervously, yet convincingly. “Gregor is really strict about that sort of thing; he’d never allow anything illegal.”

“Gregor… who’s he?”

“Gregor Morstov, he’s the owner.” Patrick thought it odd for a moment that an investigating cop didn’t know that.

“I should let you know that the man who owns this place is named Andrei Yurimenko. Either this _Gregor_ isn’t really the owner, or he’s using an alias.”

“Oh.” Patrick suddenly felt foolish. He’d always just assumed that Gregor used his real name with his employees. He very well could have used an alias; it would make sense to protect himself in that way.

It seemed that he finally came to his senses, however, when he realized that as of two minutes ago, his job was in major jeopardy.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Thankfully, the cop let him slip off his lap this time, and he made a fast beeline to the backstage doors. In his hurry Patrick managed to run straight into Babe’s rock-hard muscled chest.

“Woah! Woah! Where are you going in such a hurry?” Babe smiled amusedly; completely oblivious to the scandal and intrigue taking place on the other side of the doors. But he took pause as soon as he saw the ginger’s pale, scared face. “What’s the matter? It looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“I just talked to a cop.” Patrick had a shocked composure that he couldn’t snap out of.

“You what?” Babe lowered his voice to a whisper. He looked around for a safer place for them to talk, and settled for an empty corner, behind a costume rack.

“I think I’m in big trouble.” Patrick confessed the moment they were concealed from view. “If Gregor finds out-”

“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Something strange is going on here, Babe. You notice all the new customers?”

“Yeah, and they all want you. You been working on the side or something?”

“No, and that’s the thing. I have no idea how they know about me.”

Babe wrinkled his brow contemplatively for a moment, and Patrick could tell that his friend wanted to say something, but he just wasn’t sure how to say it. “What? You have an idea or something?” Patrick pried.

“Well, it’s just that I think I know what’s been going on between you and Gregor lately…”

“Yeah, and?” Patrick crossed his arms defensively.

“I know Gregor is a _decent_ guy, but he’s into some pretty shady stuff. I just hope he hasn’t dragged you into it.”

“I already know about the drugs. And no, I haven’t taken any from him,” Surprisingly a truth.

“It’s not just drugs.” Babe whispered even quieter. “Here, look, I’ll go get my phone. I’ll show you what I mean.”

A moment later Babe returned to their hiding place holding a smartphone. His large, sausage-shaped fingers delicately tapped the touchscreen a few times before showing the screen to Patrick.

“He’s in the porn industry.” Babe narrated as Patrick looked at the website with wide eyes. “He does all this hidden-camera stuff. It’s really popular on the internet, because it’s only _half_ staged. Gregor knows it’s being filmed; the other guy doesn’t. He doesn’t do it under his own name. I’m not even sure how Dax found this site.”

“Oh God.” Patrick’s heart ended up in his throat when he saw a graphic screenshot photo of him choking down Gregor’s unlawfully large dick.

Babe didn’t have to look at the screen to know what Patrick saw. He frowned. “Maybe this is where all those guys showed up from. They saw you online and somehow found out you work here.”

Patrick shook his head in disbelief. This could not be happening. Not to him! He’d been so careful; he knew the field of his work was risky, but he never could have imagined just how much trouble he could get into unawares.

“What should I do?” Patrick pried his eyes away from the screen, resolving not to look at something like that ever again.

“I think you should take a vacation for a few weeks.”

“A vacation.” Patrick deadpanned skeptically.

“You know, get out of town for a while; wait for things to cool down. Plus, you’ve never taken any vacation time, so it’ll be fine.”

“Gregor’s gonna know that something’s up as soon as I tell him I’m leaving.”

“Then I’ll tell him.” Babe offered selflessly. “If he suspects anything, you’ll already be gone.”

“God…” Patrick clenched his fist in his hair out of utter frustration. He thought for a few minutes before relenting. “Thanks Babe. I’ll really owe you one.”

“You know how you can really repay me?” Babe said in his kind, friendly way. “Wherever it is you’re going, stay far away from trouble.”

Patrick agreed to the terms. He exited the hiding place and grabbed his clothes. Not bothering to put them on, he just stomped out of the club - barefoot and nearly naked - into the warm, dusty, early morning air.

 

“Charlie.” For the fiftieth time that morning, Patrick could not believe what was happening, or what he was just about to do. He gripped his cell phone with a shaky, sweaty hand. “Are you still planning on going to Michigan to see Martha?”

 

 

“Good…. I’m coming with.”


	6. Admonitions

Chapter Six

Admonitions

 

“Did you pack the cooler in the trunk?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“What part of ‘please pack the cooler in the trunk’ did you find hard to understand earlier?”

“Well, gee, I don’t know, maybe once you started getting all crazy OCD about where everything went I just thought you wanted to take over.”

“Well just make sure the cooler gets in-”

“If you say it one more time I am going to castrate you in your sleep.”

 

Friday morning was chock full of bantering and bickering, all in an attempt to prepare for the journey to Michigan. It’d been three years since either of them had been to Michigan; and that was the day they moved out of their foster mother’s house. Both of them felt a reasonable amount of anxiety about the journey ahead, and it came out in the most unproductive of ways. It wasn’t until they were three hours behind schedule that Charlie finally proclaimed them ready to leave. Then of course, a heated discussion ensued about who was going to drive, which included nearly every possible argument tactic and method, short of dick measuring. Straws were drawn and a coin was flipped, pegging Charlie as the driver for the first four hours of the trip.

Just before they pulled away from the curb however, a car horn honked behind them. Patrick craned his neck to see Ben’s car pulling up behind his. Puzzled, he quickly got out of the car to see what his friend wanted.

“I’m glad you changed your mind about going.” Ben greeted him on the front lawn. The first thing Patrick noticed was Ben’s color; he looked pale and ashen.

“You came all this way to tell me that? You could’ve called.” Patrick didn’t mean to sound unfriendly, but he did anyway. “You look like shit, are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just a cold; it’s taken everything out of me. I’ll be over it soon.”

Patrick gave a skeptical look, but let Ben go on.

“Anyways, I wanted to let you know that Babe called me. Told me what’s been going on with you-” A loud, dog-bark-type cough stopped Ben’s sentence short, and he took a few seconds to recover. “I wanted to let you know that I’m here for you, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Patrick said only to get it out of the way. He was really just concerned about Ben’s obviously poor health. “You sure you’re okay? Have you seen a doctor?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow. I’ll be fine.” Another long, drawn out cough caused Ben to double over. He looked exhausted from all the coughing. “Did you hear the good news though?”

“What?”

“I got a really big job in Reno this week. It’s some dumb, expensive fundraiser thing; sounds like the Governor’s going to be there. But they’re paying me _ten_ _grand_ to coordinate all the stage performers for the whole night.”

“Wow. That’s great.”

“Yeah… Well I’d better not hold you up any more. I’ll pray for you two, and Martha.” And with that, Ben weakly made his way to his car, coughing and hacking, leaving Patrick to worry and wonder.

 

“What was that all about?” Charlie asked immediately after Patrick got back into the car. The other barely heard him; he seemed lost in thought.

“Patrick.”

“Hmm?”

“What’d he say?”

The thoughtful expression stayed creased in Patrick’s brow as he answered, “He said that he would _pray_ for me.”

“So?” Charlie shrugged. “It’s a common enough expression.”

“No, not for Ben.” Patrick took one last look behind him while Charlie pulled away from the curb, trying to get a last glimpse of his friend before they left.

 

 

“So… Care to tell me what this is all about?” Charlie finally broke the hour long silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean _this_. Why did you change your mind about coming with me? I mean, you kind of gave me the impression that you would rather _die_ than go on a road trip with me.”

“I never said that. I said that I would rather be fed to a swamp full of alligators, get regurgitated, and then have my remains placed in a giant blender, than be with you in a car for three days straight.”

“Right.” Charlie frowned, trying not to show his hurt feelings. “So why’d you change your mind?”

Patrick huffed dramatically. “I don’t know, I guess I just needed some time away.”

“Away from what? _Ben_?”

“Work isn’t going so well. I may have to find another job.” Patrick couldn’t believe it himself, even as he said it. And why was he telling his enemy all of this?

Charlie could not even attempt to hide his excitement upon hearing those words. “Really? Are… Are you looking at going to school? Because, if you are I know of a great-”

“I meant another _stripper_ job, Charlie.” Patrick rolled his eyes at his older brother’s enthusiasm. “That’s all I’m good at, anyway. It’s not like I’d last a _day_ in college, and no other decent-paying job is going to take in some guy whose only previous job experience is three years of exotic dancing.”

The young man in the driver’s seat thought for a while, seeing that the other definitely had a point. Suddenly, an idea struck him. “I would hire you.”

“Yeah, you’re just about the only one.” Patrick made no attempt to hide his disdain.

“No, I mean, I’m serious. I’ll hire you.”

“Hire me to do what? Your laundry?”

“No, I’d hire you as my secretary, or accountant, or stenographer. Whatever you want to call it.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Sure I’m serious.” Charlie’s exuberant energy was palpable. “I’m starting up my own PC repair business soon, and I’ll need someone to answer phones and keep track of appointments and billing.”

“You want me to be your fucking secretary?” Patrick’s voice took on a little bit of a haughty tone.

“Well it’s better than the job you have, right?” Charlie was completely oblivious to how much he’d just offended the other.

“You mean it’s better than being a _stripper_?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, it makes you good money, but, don’t you want a better job? One that doesn’t require you to sell your body to perverts and drunk guys?”

“So that’s it, huh? This is about jealousy. You’re jealous that other guys get to see me naked on stage, simulating getting fucked senseless while you’re at home, being too much of a fucking _square_ to even look at porn!”

Charlie swallowed thickly, tears welling up in his eyes. He had to blink them away, for fear of getting in an accident while driving. “Of- of course I’m jealous.”

“Ha! I knew it.” Patrick guffawed accusingly, like the prosecutor who finally nailed his case shut.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Charlie’s voice still choked with an approaching sob. “I admit I am jealous of all the men who get to see you stri- I mean, _dance_. But that’s not what this is about. Don’t you… Don’t you want to save yourself? I mean, is _anything_ sacred to you? You put yourself out there to be used like some kind of toy. Like your body means nothing. But… It _does_ mean something. It should mean something to you, and it means _everything_ to that one special person out there, who’s going to love you forever. No matter how amazing, or forgiving your future partner is, they are always going to be jealous of your former lovers. Don’t you get it? Your body isn’t _just_ yours; it’s also your future partner’s. I-”

“I didn’t come on this trip to get a stupid sermon, Charlie.” Patrick interrupted angrily. But the words did not fall on deaf ears. As much as Patrick didn’t want to admit it to himself, he actually mulled Charlie’s words over in his mind for quite some time.

 

 

“I’ll fill up the tank. You go on ahead and get some snacks.”

The two boys had driven the entire day, and yet under the midnight moon there was no end in sight. If the boys were going to make it to Michigan, they had at least thirteen more hours of driving ahead of them.

“Do you realize that if we took a plane, it would have taken six _hours_ , not three days?” Patrick grumbled as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

“Do _you_ realize that I have a fear of flying, and that there is _no chance_ that I’d make it through take-off without shitting my pants?”

Patrick had to smile at that one. He sauntered lazily over to the small gas station building, hoping they had a decent bathroom. Catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass door, Patrick realized that his travel-tousled hair looked like a cartoon character that stuck its finger in an electrical socket. He tried to nonchalantly run his fingers through his fiery red hair while he walked through the quiet, grungy convenience store. Just as he approached the bathroom door, a tall, heavy-set man burst out of the men’s room. He was still buckling his belt, and the offensive smell accompanying him made Patrick’s nostrils sting and his gag reflex to lurch. The young redhead stood there for half a minute, weighing his options, debating on whether or not he would risk going into the likely noxious bathroom. He glanced at the ladies’ restroom: out of order. Of course it was. Patrick finally mustered up the courage to enter the bathroom. And it wasn’t as bad as he expected. It was worse. The stench hit him like a brick wall, and he was just about to retreat when he heard an unexpected sound. It could have just been his imagination, but Patrick could have sworn that he heard a sniffle coming from the toilet stall. He plugged his nose before investigating further. He realized that there was someone sitting on the grimy tile floor. It looked like a child. Experiencing concern and disgust all at once, Patrick walked to the stall and hesitantly pushed the door open.

“Hello?” He said softly to the boy on the floor. A tiny head shot up and tear-filled, doe brown eyes looked up at him in complete panic. “I’m sorry!” The kid said through his snotty, runny nose. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, dragging a residual streak across his cheek. Patrick tried not to cringe.

“Please don’t tell Him about this, I- I’ll be good! I swear!” The scrawny, severely underweight kid scrambled to upright himself on the floor. Patrick wondered who the kid was talking about, but before he could ask, he felt a hand on the zipper of his jeans. “Woah, there!” He took a step away from the sniffling kid, feeling confused as all hell.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry…” The kid repeated over and over through his tears. He groveled pathetically at Patrick’s feet. “I-I can still do it, just give me a chance. Please don’t tell Him I messed up. I’ll do _anything_!”

“Look kid…” Patrick held his hand out in front of his crotch, almost protectively, but more preventative than anything else. Before he could finish his sentence he thought for a while longer, piecing the puzzle together. The realization that the fat man he saw leaving the bathroom had sexually used this poor, defenseless child made him sick to his stomach. “I-I’m not here for any favors, okay? I just needed to use the john.”

The kid seemed relieved, yet confused. He sat back on the heels of his feet and looked down at the floor. “So… He didn’t send you in here?”

Patrick shook his head and frowned sympathetically for the young teen in front of him. “How old _are_ you anyway?”

“Fourteen.” Another sniff. The boy still refused to look Patrick in the eye. He looked so broken; so ashamed.

“Shit.” Patrick swore under his breath. “Look kid, you’re too young to be doing stuff like this. You have so much of your life ahead of you.”

The boy just shook his head, seemingly unable to comprehend the idea of having a life of his own. Patrick may not have recognized it at the time, but the feeling in his chest was his very heart breaking for the enslaved teen. Before he knew what was even going on in his own brain, the craziest thing came out of his mouth.

“Would you like to come with me? I’ll make sure that He can’t get to you anymore. You’ll be _safe_.”

“What?” The kid finally looked up at him again. The tears seemed to have stopped, but the streaks still stained his freckled cheeks. “I-I can’t leave with anyone. He’ll get angry, and I’ll get punished.”

“I told you, He won’t be able to touch you. I’ll make sure of it.” Patrick held his hand out for the boy to take. “I know you don’t know me, but I really do want to help… Do you trust me?”

 

 

“Charlie, drive!” Patrick barked as soon as he shut the rear passenger door, protectively sealing the kid from the horrible life he led. He then practically swung himself into the front passenger seat, slamming the door and not bothering to put on his seat belt.

“What’s going on? Who’s _he_?” Charlie gestured to the silent, shrunken boy in the back.

“I’ll explain later, but right now, we just have to _go_!” They both looked to the gas station doors just in time to see the gangly, drunk store manager stumbling towards them with a shotgun in hand.

“Shit!” Charlie screeched in terror, shifting the car into drive. He gunned the engine just in time to get away before the armed man could get close enough.

 

 

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” Charlie demanded once they were a good five miles away from danger.

Patrick could hardly formulate an answer. He really had no idea what possessed him to do something as risky as he just did. “We need to find a church; or a hospital; or something.”

Charlie knew better than to pry. He wisely pieced together what he thought might be going on, and he just trusted Patrick for the rest.

 

 

Four hours later, Patrick plopped back into the passenger seat, looking exhausted as hell. “Well, he’s in good hands.”

The still dark early morning was filled with a symphony of crickets to fill the otherwise silent air.

Charlie looked even more sleepy; he’d tried sleeping in the car while Patrick talked to the people in the church.

“The Sister says he can stay there as long as he likes; they run a homeless shelter downtown, but right now they’ll give him a place all of his own, so he can recover.”

“That’s good.” Charlie still didn’t know the whole story; he was just the getaway driver in this adventure. But he knew he could get more of the story if he didn’t ask questions.

“He told them that he hadn’t eaten anything more than gas station junk food for _four months_.” Patrick said disbelievingly. “And that no one ever offered to help him. Not once. I mean, what kind of a fucked up bastard would you have to be to _not_ to help a kid like that?”

“Well, I’m just glad that you did.”

“I just hope I wasn’t too late. He says he’s never been tested, and the men never used protection. God, what kind of monster _does_ that to a kid?”

Charlie frowned, deeply hurt for the kid he didn’t even know the name of. What was even more miraculous though was that Patrick cared so much about it. It was a pleasant surprise for Charlie to see his friend genuinely caring about a total stranger.

“What about the dude with the shotgun? What’s the story with that?” Charlie just had to ask.

“I think the store manager was the pimp. Either that or he was hired by the pimp to make sure the kid didn’t run off.”

“And you just left with the kid anyway?”

“The guy was drunk as a skunk, Charlie. Even if he tried shooting us, there’s very little chance he would have a decent aim.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose, becoming more impressed by this unknown side of Patrick by the minute. He decided not to comment on his surprise, however. He didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Something bothers me about all this, though.” Patrick mused. “It makes me think about where I was at that age. I was practically doing the same thing at fifteen.” The rest of the one-sided conversation continued on in Patrick’s mind. What if he had been enslaved as a young teen? What if he’d been forced to have unsafe sex with dirty, grimy men against his will? Patrick shuddered at the thought, and also realized something. He realized that he was only two steps away from that same fate, three years ago. And… If it hadn’t been for Charlie, he would be there, possibly right now, instead of where he really was, right then.

Charlie had done his best to be Patrick’s protective, guardian angel. And what had Patrick done in return? The mile-long list of ungrateful misdeeds made him frown in shame. Patrick was certainly not one for sappy gratitude, but he resolved to think of a way to say thank you to Charlie for all he did. Charlie was after all, his big brother.


	7. Interruptions

Chapter Seven

Interruptions

 

“Hand me that tire iron, will you?”

 

Patrick had no idea how he got himself in this mess. He had no idea what possessed him to think that going on a road trip with Charlie would be okay. Not that it was going all that terribly. They’d only run over two skunks, almost hit four deer, and the most recent lovely surprise, a flat tire. Luckily Charlie was prepared; he kept a full-size spare tire in the trunk, and also knew how to put it on (in just over an hour, that is.)

Once the whole affair was over, the two decided to make some lunch. The cooler they kept in the trunk seemed to have done a decent job of keeping their food cold enough, and they both enjoyed sandwiches on the side of the road, watching all the cars go by on the freeway. Patrick didn’t mind the parts of the trip that were like this: quiet and peaceful. He was grateful that Charlie knew how to change the tire. And as much as he hated to admit it, Charlie seemed to be growing on him again. They’d grown apart so much in the past five years. One would think that moving in together would make them closer than ever; but it made no difference. They drifted apart just the same.

Patrick always knew that Charlie disapproved of his life and career choices, but he had to hand it to the guy; for being so straight-arrow, he certainly kept his self-righteousness to a minimum. He never chewed Patrick out for his outright promiscuous lifestyle, although Patrick could see by the look in his eyes that he was worried about him. In fact, every time he came home from a one-night fling, Charlie would always give him the “you should have called; I was worried” look. Every so often Patrick would admit to himself that Charlie’s concerns were motivated by love, and not just some urge to annoy him to death. And Charlie really did love him. Patrick wasn’t ready to accept the kind of love that Charlie wanted to give. He could never, he decided. He could never really let himself be loved. Because people like him never found happiness. People like him never found true love.

 

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Patrick glanced furtively at the screen on his ringing cell phone, making sure he read it right the first time. It was Gregor. Gregor never called him. Suddenly the whole situation back at work came flooding back to him and he felt a nervous, cold sweat coming on. The phone rang again, for the fourth time. One more ring and it would go to voicemail. He let it go, and ignored the confused look he got from Charlie.

“He’s your boss, don’t you think you should answer it?”

Patrick gripped the steering wheel a little tighter in irritation, his mind still going a hundred miles a minute. What was he thinking? How did he think he could just take off? It was probably making his problems even worse. He already began plans to never return to Boyz Club, for fear as to what Gregor would do to him if he found out he talked to a cop.

“You slept with him, didn’t you.” Charlie stated with ninety-percent certainty.

“What makes you say that?” Patrick didn’t even try to muster up the gall to deny it.

“It’s been irking me, the reason you changed you mind to come with me.” Charlie explained. “The only thing that makes sense is that you’re running from something. And the fact that you’re ignoring your boss’ calls tells me that you messed things up with him. And what better way to complicate things with your boss than to sleep with him?”

Patrick had to chuckle a little at his brother’s unexpected cleverness. “Yes, I did have sex with Gregor… But that’s not the reason I’m not answering his calls.”

“Then why?”

“I talked to a cop.”

“You what?” Charlie was far from being anti-cop, but he understood what kind of illegitimacies went on at the club, and how serious Patrick’s mistake could be.

“Actually that’s just the half of it. A whole bunch of crazy shit has been happening there.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Stuff.” Patrick felt a blush rise to his cheeks at the picture of Gregor’s meaty cock in his mouth that had been burned into his mind. It made him feel something he’d really never felt when it came to sex: shame; embarrassment. He couldn’t believe that he let himself be fooled hook, line and sinker into being a porn star. True, he loved sex; he loved to be dominated, and he loved to be watched… But only if he was in control. Only if he was the one who was calling the shots and the one who could say ‘stop’ if he wanted. Online porn would take all of that away from him. He would have no control over who watched, or who knew his weaknesses.

“I’m sorry Pat.” Charlie tried to sympathize. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m always here for ya.”

The offer only hit Patrick at a skin-deep level, and he brushed it off like a mosquito’s advances. “Yeah, well I’m fine. Getting away for a few days will do the trick.” Patrick said more to convince himself than Charlie. Because there was no convincing Charlie. Charlie was all Mr. Emotional; everything had to do with feelings. And he always assumed that Patrick was far more emotionally inclined than he really was.

After all, a guy like Patrick couldn’t afford to have feelings. He tried his best not to have a conscience, a heart. But Charlie was not going to let it be so easy. As always, his older brother was going to do his best to bring his empty heart back to life.

 

 

“Pat, you’re gonna have to pull over.”

“Again?!”

“Do it, now!”

As luck (or karma) would have it, the flat tire turned out to not be enough of a hindrance to their road trip. An hour after they hit the road, Charlie got sick. Real sick. Luckily Patrick was driving, too, or else they may have crashed the car.

“I knew that lunch meat seemed a little warm.” Patrick said in an “I-told-you-so” tone of voice. Charlie was still leaning out of the open car door, heaving his guts out onto the grass.

“Yeah, thanks Patrick,” Charlie quipped sarcastically one he sat back up in his seat. “And now that I’m the one with e-coli, I will happily grant you the trophy for being right. Congratulations.”

“Sorry. I know this isn’t pleasant for you.” Patrick tried to sympathize. “Do you want to stop at the oasis up ahead and wash up?”

“Yeah, sure.”

 

They stopped at a little oasis just off the highway. Charlie hobbled on weak legs to the bathroom, and on more than one occasion Patrick had to keep his friend from falling over.

“I’ll meet you out here, okay?”

“Yeah. You’d better stay out here, I think I’m gonna stink up the bathroom again.” Charlie groaned in misery. He limped into the bathroom, clutching his agonized stomach.

Patrick felt genuine concern for Charlie. And that worried him. He knew he was letting his guard down. This entire trip he’ been letting his guard down. It made a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. What if Charlie hurt him? He tried to ignore his own paranoia, but it irked at him all the same.

A disgusting wretching sound echoing off the bathroom walls broke Patrick out of his thoughts. He instinctively walked towards the noise. The first thing he saw when he entered the bathroom was Charlie, leaning with his head aimed in the urinal. The brunette spit a few times onto the porcelain and groaned pitifully. He looked like he didn’t have a single thing left in him; no energy and nothing left in his guts to get rid of.

Patrick felt sorry for the poor guy, and hurried to Charlie’s side to try to offer what comfort he could.

“Hey, I’m sorry you’re sick.” Patrick surprised himself as he put his hand on his brother’s back, attempting to convey sympathy. “Is there anything you need?”

“Some water,” Charlie rasped quietly.

“I saw a water fountain. You want to go out there? Otherwise we have some bottles in the car.”

Charlie didn’t say anything, just nodded and followed Patrick out of the bathroom. He opted for rinsing his mouth out in the public water fountain just outside the door.

A few minutes of manhandling later, Patrick finally had Charlie back in the car. He contemplated the idea of taking him into the hospital; what if it wasn’t just food poisoning? But he knew that it would just be a waste of time. At best the hospital would only give him fluids, and it would set them back half a day in their trip.

“You know what I find ridiculously unfair?” Charlie groaned from the passenger seat as soon as they set out on the road again. “We both ate the _same_ sandwich meat, and _I’m_ the one who got sick from it. And you’ve always been the one with a sensitive stomach.”

Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the irony.

“Maybe that’s why you’re so much skinnier than me.” Charlie mused in approaching delirium. “You were always so picky about your food.”

Patrick thought the statement was a little unfair to Charlie. Sure, Patrick weighed less than his brother, but Charlie barely had an ounce of fat on him. While Patrick was petite and thin, Charlie was more average and… pleasantly curvy in certain areas. Patrick wouldn’t call it fat really, even if he was in a critical mood.

“How much longer till we get there?” Charlie whined, obviously feeling restless. And Patrick was feeling restless too. There was nothing but miles and miles of endless, empty road as far as the eye could see. He was so ready for the road trip to be over.

“We’ll be there in about eight hours.”

“Uuggggh. Why can’t we just _teleport_ there?” Charlie said in frustration.

“I’ll have a word with NASA.” Patrick smiled in amusement. Although Charlie’s fussy, somewhat deluded behavior was quite cute, he also knew that it meant Charlie was severely dehydrated. He knew that if he couldn’t hold down fluids soon he’d have to bring Charlie to the hospital to get an IV.

But Charlie did get better. He started keeping down fluids, although Patrick didn’t dare let him eat anything, as much as Charlie begged and pleaded.

The rest of the trip went alright; they finally made it to Michigan at about ten o’clock at night, and still had a while before they would make it to their hometown. Charlie slept most of the day. Patrick thought it was kind of cute. He had the seat laid all the way back, his head tossed off to the side, an occasional snore escaping him with a consistent trail of drool streaming off his cheek. Normally that sort of picture would make Patrick cringe, but instead he thought it sort of endearing. He knew he was getting a soft spot for Charlie. Was he going crazy? Or was he finally seeing his brother the way he used to? They used to be inseparable; back in elementary school. Patrick and Charlie could hardly be seen alone when they lived in the foster home for boys. But as soon as they moved into a more permanent home; switched schools and made their own friends, it was all downhill from there. The two of them drifted apart gradually, without even realizing it, until one day Patrick could barely stand to be in the same room with Charlie. He always blamed Charlie for that; that somehow Charlie had changed into an annoying, ugly imp when he wasn’t looking. But more and more, Patrick began to realize that it was him who had changed; he turned into the douche bag that he accused Charlie of being. Patrick fought a tear, knowing that he couldn’t let himself start crying while he was driving. And it was getting really late; all that he could see was the next thirty feet of pavement and yellow lines dividing the road. He couldn’t afford to get into an accident. The reality of the risk of getting into an accident sobered Patrick some, and the pricking in his eyes stopped.

The sudden sound of his GPS coming to life, breaking the silence with a mechanical, disembodied voice just about made Patrick just out of his skin. Even Charlie woke up from his comatose state.

“It’s okay, it was just the GPS. Go back to sleep. We’re almost there.” Before Patrick could stop himself, he patted Charlie on his side comfortingly. The action made him roll his eyes at himself. He really was becoming soft. But Charlie certainly didn’t mind. He smiled the moment Patrick touched him; he looked so content; so peaceful. Patrick thought it reminded him of home. And speaking of home, Patrick realized that he was only a few block away from the house he spent a good five years calling home. And it still felt like home, in his mind. Although he was sure some things had changed over the years, he still expected Martha’s home to be basically the same way he left it.

 

And he was right. As he pulled into the driveway at the one in the morning, Patrick noticed that the house and yard of the quaint, two story bungalow looked just as he remembered it. There were still God-awful shutters lining all the windows, and the same cursed lawn decorations scattered the yard with about as much organization as a plate of spaghetti noodles.

Patrick tried to stir Charlie awake from his slumber in the passenger seat. “Charlie, we’re there. You’ve got to get up. If you sleep in here you’re going to freeze to death,” An exaggeration, but barely. The forty-five degree Michigan weather felt like full-on winter to the desert-acclimated young man.

An indistinguishable groan came from Charlie, voicing his disdain of getting awoken.

“That’s it buddy, you’ve gotta get up. There’s _no way_ I could carry you.”

Charlie let out a single, sleepy guffaw at that. “Alright, alright. I’ll get up.” After fiddling with his seatbelt for what seemed like ten minutes, Charlie finally scraped himself off the seat cushion and got out of the car. Patrick shivered and shook in the northern wind while they made their way to the side door, the only entryway anyone ever used. They didn’t bother knocking. Only one light was on in the sitting room, and they assumed no one was awake at such a late hour.

The house still smelled the same; like cinnamon and pumpkin potpourri. It was neat and tidy as usual, with just a few stacks of papers and books here and there. They walked quietly through the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible. The old hardwood floor creaked under their feet and Patrick felt sure they were going to wake up the whole house.

The sitting room looked vacant at first glance, but Patrick quickly realized that there was someone sitting in the wingback chair in the corner, reading a book by the lamplight. The man looked up from his book drowsily, and locked eyes with Patrick.

“You made it.” The man stated the obvious. He kept a hushed, whispery tone, knowing just how late it was.

“Yeah… Hi.” Patrick stood stunned, still processing who it was sitting in his mother’s favorite chair. It was Derek Garrison, his unlawfully handsome social studies teacher from high school. Why the heck was he there? “Are we in the wrong house?” Patrick half-joked, hoping that Derek would explain why on earth he was in his mother’s house.

“No, I’m just here for a few days.” Garrison shrugged. “I’m getting married on Wednesday and Martha offered for me to stay here before the big day. Apparently it’s bad luck to stay with the bride before the wedding.”

“Oh. Congratulations.” Sleepy, groggy Charlie drawled out.

“Thank you.” Derek smiled at the young man who was very nearly drooling onto the rug.

“Wait – _bride_?” Patrick clarified. “You’re marrying a _woman_?”

“Yes Patrick.” Derek became solemn at the red-head’s implied accusation. “A very beautiful, wonderful woman named Janice.”

Patrick scoffed skeptically. What kind of a name was Janice? In Patrick’s mind, the only thing that belonged with Derek was a slim, yet muscular surfer dude who loved to bottom, but also knew how to top when Derek needed the occasional good fucking. He could see him with a guy by the name of James; or maybe a Tyler, or Trevor. But _Janice_?

“I’m too tired for this shit.” Patrick decided quickly. “Is there a spare bedroom upstairs that’s still open?”

“Yes, Erika prepared the Cottage Room for you both.” Derek crossed his legs dignifiedly while returning to his book.

Patrick’s heart lifted at the idea of seeing Erika, his older sister again. It was good to hear that she was home; or perhaps she never left. He never asked. In fact he never really talked to anyone from home ever since he left three years ago.

Charlie led the way up the old creaky stair case, Patrick following closely behind. The door to the “Cottage Room” was right at the top of the stairs. It was named after the Thomas Kinkade themed wallpaper bordering the ceiling and the umpteen-and-a-half ceramic cottages that lined the shelves all around the room. Martha was obsessed with cottages and log cabins. Patrick thought it a little strange, but certainly a better hobby than collecting, say, ceramic dolls or clowns. At least the cottages wouldn’t stare at you in the middle of the night or give you nightmares.

Charlie plopped down on top of the neatly made full-size bed, not bothering to get under the covers. Patrick felt so tired that he almost didn’t realize that he and Charlie would be _sharing_ a bed. He knew he couldn’t make a fuss over it, so he simply resigned himself to the idea and lay down on his half of the bed.

 

He was out before his head hit the pillow.


	8. Niceties

 Patrick slept dreamlessly that night. But that wasn’t unusual for him. He very rarely had dreams, but when he did, it was typically a nightmare. He intended on sleeping in; there was no reason to get up early. The soft mattress and comfortably warm room made him want to just curl up and just keep on sleeping. But once a little bit of his self-awareness kicked in, he realized just how close Charlie was laying behind him. They may as well have been spooning, and Patrick felt what had to have been a very impressive erection jutting into his rear end.

Charlie murmured in his sleep; it was more like a whimper. He must have been having quite the dream, Patrick figured. The first order of business was to get the hell away from Charlie’s morning wood. He didn’t want Charlie to get the wrong idea, after all. Just as he was about to scoot away, he found himself trapped by a long heavy arm wrapping around his chest tightly.

“Ugh, Charlie,” Patrick whined in objection to the sleeping man behind him. Charlie did nothing but scoot closer to the object of his affections, consequently grinding his hard-on even more into Patrick’s ass. “Seriously, Char, you’ve got to wake up. You’re squeezing me too tight.” Patrick lied; the position would have been completely comfortable if it was with someone other than his brother. In fact, if Charlie would have been anyone else, he would have been shimmying out of his trousers to take advantage of the arousal before the other even woke up.

“Charlie!” Patrick huffed in frustration. A knock at the bedroom door made his heart stop. He floundered to get out from Charlie’s suggestive-looking hold, but it was too late. The old brass knob turned and the door opened to reveal Erika standing in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The brunette apologized, obviously startled at what she saw. “I didn’t realize you’d still be in bed.”

“It’s okay.” Patrick couldn’t believe it, but he felt the onset of a blush rising to his cheeks like an unwelcome heat wave. He’d managed to pry himself away from Charlie, practically jumping off the bed in order to distance himself as fast as he could.

“You realize that it’s almost eleven thirty, right?” Erika said with a bemused smirk.

“Yeah, I’m sorry; Charlie and I had a rough trip.”

“Apparently.”

There was a sudden stiff silence between the two of them; something Patrick hoped to God wouldn’t happen. Eventually Erika nodded towards the comatose Charlie on the bed.  “Are you two together now?”

Patrick recoiled in disgust. “Ew, no. God no, Erika. Charlie’s just… dreaming is all.”

“Dreaming about you.”

“Wait what?”

“Charlie’s told me all about it, kiddo.” The awkwardness seemed to disappear from Erika’s whole countenance, just so it could double over right onto Patrick. “He told me everything. About how he’s been in love with you for like, eight years, and you’ve been constantly rejecting his love, and it’s just been getting worse and worse recently.” Her face suddenly scrunched up in a weird way. “Who do you think has been proof-reading his blog posts about you?”

Patrick couldn’t decide if he should be angry, or embarrassed, or a mixture of the two. But he decided to just change the subject; hopefully forget about everything that happened in the last two minutes. If he was lucky, a cup of coffee would help him erase it all and start the morning over again.

“Is there any decent coffee in this house?”

Erika smiled. No worse for wear, her brother was back.

 

 

Charlie sauntered down the creaky stairs sometime around one o’clock in the afternoon, looking like a zombie who had yet to feed. Erika held back a laugh when she saw the young man’s shaggy hair standing on end; completely tousled and tangled.

“Food…” Is all Charlie could muster from his sticky, dry lips. “Water…”

“Coming right up.” Erika, the chef of the three siblings, slid a hot sandwich on a saucer plate towards the zombie. Charlie didn’t even bother with any of the gratuitous formalities; hand washing, grace, or a verbal “thank you” to Erika. He simply shoved half the grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth in one bite, and moaned in delight while he chewed. Patrick stared at Charlie in slight disgust, but he couldn’t judge too harshly, the guy was recovering from food poisoning after all.

“Patrick was just telling me about your job, Char.” Erika started the chit-chat way too soon for the poor guy. She was about to go on but Charlie held up a finger, indicating for her to wait a minute. He swallowed the massive bolus of chewed sandwich. Then he spoke. “Coffee.”

Erika hurriedly poured a cup and gave it to her brother, hoping that she could continue talking.

“Cream?” Charlie started to look a bit like himself again when a sheepish smile came across his face while making the additional request.

“And sugar?” Erika offered dramatically while rooting through the fridge. “How ‘bout a foot massage?”

“Yes please.” Charlie hid behind the coffee mug a little, his grin showing anyway. “I mean for the foot massage; I’ll pass on the sugar.”

Erika laughed finally; the jig was up. She could never keep a joke going for long before it just ended in laughter.

 

Patrick just watched as Erika and Charlie goofed off. He felt happy to be home. But he felt like he would probably be happy to leave, when the time came. He wondered if that was normal. He thought so.

Before too long, he just had to break up the happy mood permeating the atmosphere.

“Where’s Martha?”

 

 

 

Charlie and Patrick let Erika take the lead up the stairs. The solemnity of it all was getting to Patrick. He started to question if he could even face Martha. After all the wonderful things she did for him, he hadn’t even spoken to her in three years. He was beginning to feel like the biggest douche bag in history; second only to Adolf Hitler.

 

Martha’s lights were on, but Erika knocked on the half-open door anyway.

“Come in.” A frail, hoarse voice invited.

All three of them stepped forward, and then one of them stepped back: Charlie. Patrick couldn’t believe it. He thought that if anyone was going to lose their nerve it would be him, not Charlie. Erika went in the room, and Patrick could hear her telling Martha that “her boys” had come to visit. A sharp gasp was also heard, and Patrick couldn’t tell if it was a good gasp or a bad one.

“Come on Charlie. It’ll be fine.” Patrick tried to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder but Charlie jerked away, not making eye contact. His resolve seemed strong. Patrick went in without him.

To say that Martha looked different would be an understatement; a drastic one. She looked so different, so decrepit, that Patrick almost blurted out “Where’s Martha?” instinctively; genuinely.

“Hi Martha.” The redhead held back a sob. He really would have cried if he’d called her Mom instead.

Martha was sitting up on the bed, a regal quilt laying over her legs. Her old-fashioned nightcap was on her head, and previously rich brown hair-turned-silver peeked out from the edges of the bonnet.

“Patrick!” Her smile was genuine, and although her voice was weak, it was filled with joy and love. “Come here my love, give me a hug.”

Patrick couldn’t believe how fast he fell into the woman’s arms. The smell of lilac perfume and baby powder filled his nose, and although it wasn’t his favorite smell, it smelled like home. He hugged Martha tight for a full minute before letting go. He didn’t notice the wetness on his cheeks, but he noticed hers.

He pulled a tissue from the nightstand and handed it to Martha. “Thank you.” She honked her nose and then gave a little chuckle. “I remember doing this for you.” She reminisced. “Remember that?”

“You mean the day I figured out that David Hasselhoff was married?”

“Yes!” Martha burst into laughter that was barely audible. “You were in bed for hours! Honking your nose, crying a river that would give contest to the Nile itself.”

“It was a fleeting crush.”

“Adorable, is what it was.”

“I didn’t even know about that.” Erika winked in their direction, also reminding the two that she was still in the room. She couldn’t go without attention for long.

“I thought Charlie had come with you.” Martha fished.

“He’s just outside. Do you want me to get him?” Erika offered.

“No I’ll get him.” Patrick needed a breather; an emotional break. Just for a second. “I’ll be right back, Mom.” He let the “m” word slip, but he was glad he finally said it after three years. It didn’t make him cringe like it used to. Maybe he was finally getting over what his real mom used to be like; what his _real_ mom used to do to him.

 

Patrick found Charlie on the swing set in the backyard. He looked melancholy; depressed even. Patrick had never seen his brother like that before. Charlie was always the optimist.

“Hey.” Patrick said nonchalantly. He sat down on the swing adjacent to Charlie. “Martha asked to see you.”

“I know.” Charlie was staring that the dirt patch directly under the swing. It amazed him that grass had still not grown back, even after all those years of not being used. He wondered if maybe the neighbor kids used it.

“Are you ever going to go up there?” Patrick pried. He couldn’t believe that he was the one persuading Charlie to see his mother; the roles were reversed just a few short days ago.

“I will, when the time’s right.”

“When is that?”

Charlie sighed. “I just didn’t feel right, being ushered into a room where the dying lady lay. I mean, it’s a sick ritual, _viewing_ someone before they die. It might as well be some sort of museum spectacle…. No I’d rather keep the memory of Martha the way she was; all vibrant, cheerful, and impossible to pin down to rest for even a minute.”

“She’s still that person you know. Inside.” Patrick offered wisely. “What’s that saying? ‘The mind is willing, but the body is weak?’ It’s the same for illness. Martha is still the mom you love, but she just looks different, and can do less than she used to. It doesn’t change who she is.”

Charlie nodded, but still wouldn’t look up. Patrick didn’t know what it was inside of him, the hormones rushing around in his blood from all the heartstrings being tugged, or the last of his walls crumbling down around his heart, but he felt the sudden need to do something; something that he thought he’d never do again. He reached out his hand, and he clasped it around Charlie’s, which still held onto the swing’s chain. It was an awkward position, so Charlie let his hand fall from the chain so they could hold hands more comfortably. And for the first time in a long, long time, they both smiled, together.

 

 

Charlie did go to see Martha. He went in the room alone, and stayed there for a very long time. Erika made a giant pot of pizza stew for supper; something that neither of them had eaten for years. It was Erika’s specialty, but she only made it for her brothers; a somewhat goofy vow she made a decade ago, but she still kept it all the same.

Patrick tapped his foot anxiously, hating the silence between he and Erika. The only reason that his foster sister was ever quiet was when she was formulating sentences and thinking a conversation through before starting it. That usually meant that the conversation was on a deep subject; and Patrick wasn’t in the mood for one of those. Erika didn’t care.

“Patrick, are you a prostitute?” Erika finally asked while setting the bowl of heavenly stew in front of her brother. Patrick was appalled at the brisk ease with which his sister asked the most uncomfortable questions. He remembered that years ago she came up to him and asked “Do you ever masturbate?” She couldn’t have been more than fourteen at the time. And the answer was no, by the way. To his sister, the answer would always be no.

“No, Erika. I’m not.” Patrick deadpanned. He suddenly wondered if the soup was poisoned. Erika hadn’t eaten any yet. But he supposed that he’d rather die of poisoning than continue the current conversation, so he took a big bite of the stew.

“Charlie said you’re a dancer, but I happen to know that you have no sense of rhythm. And you’re tone deaf. So I figured that meant you’re a prostitute.”

Patrick ignored the (true) insult. “No, I’m not.  I work at a guys-only club. Or… at least I used to… It’s complicated.”

“Sleep with your boss, huh?” Erika guessed with divine-appointed accuracy.

“Did Charlie tell you?” Patrick’s blood was about to boil, but he showed little sign of it.

“No, _you_ just did… Why did you go and do a thing like that? Is your boss David Hasselhoff or something?” Erika had to bring in that little tidbit of new information; she just _had_ to.

“ _No_ , but I like him… or _liked_ him… As I said it’s-”

“It’s complicated, I know.” Erika rolled her eyes. “If you want to really know complicated, you should ask about _my_ love life.”

There was a deadened silence; Patrick did not care to know, but he expected Erika would divulge anyway.

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

Now that, Patrick did not expect.

 


	9. Despairings

Patrick ran into Charlie on the way up the stairs. “Erika made our stew. It’s still on the stove.” Patrick informed him.

“Thanks.” Charlie looked so elated, so relieved, now that he’d spent time with Martha. He looked like he’d been crying for a long time, but stopped a while ago. “Can we talk?”

Patrick would usually have said no; he felt like saying no, but he also felt like he owed Charlie a kindness; at least one. The guy had been through a lot; they both had. Maybe they both could use a talk.

 

The two brothers sat in the cottage room on the edge of the bed, a bowl of pizza stew in their laps. They hadn’t really spoken to each other yet, and Patrick was okay with that. But for some reason he felt the need to break the silence; perhaps he was getting annoyed at the sound of Charlie slurping stew off the spoon. “So…. Martha looks good.”

“What are you talking about, she looks like shit.”

“Yeah you’re right.”

“Then why did you say she looked good?”

Patrick stared at the stew, somewhat bewildered as to what to say next. “Erika’s pregnant.”

“What!?” Charlie jumped in surprise and the bowl in his lap nearly spilled. “She’s not even…”

“Straight? Yeah I know.”

“You know she’s gay?” Charlie sounded dumbfounded. He didn’t need an answer, it was already made plain.

“Real funny huh?” Patrick huffed with irony in his tone. “What are the odds that three foster siblings all turn out gay… But yes, she is pregnant all the same.”

“By whom?!” Charlie was getting very alarmed.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, it’s nothing monstrous.” Patrick reassured, and Charlie forced himself to relax. “She’s doing a surrogate thing. For her partner’s sister, who’s been married for five years and can’t have kids.”

Charlie was dumbstruck. “A surrogate?! Erika?”

“Yep.”

“She really is a saint.”

“She is,” Patrick didn’t want to ruin the notion, but he just had to. “But she’s also being paid _very_ handsomely for it.”

“Oh.” Charlie felt dumb for not thinking of that. “How handsomely?”

“Twenty grand.”

“Holy Shit.”

“I know, right? Makes me wish _I_ could have kids. I’d have two in three years if it made that much money.”

It was Charlie’s turn to be a bit smug. “I don’t think you’d do it a second time, Pat. From what I hear, only a woman can handle that whole childbirth thing. Or rather, only a woman is crazy enough to repeat it.”

Patrick could only nod. They were talking hypothetical after all. Then there was silence again. The awkward, proverbial elephant standing in the room was getting too big, and soon they would be squished.

“This sucks.” Charlie admitted finally, after at least two minutes of mind-numbing silence. “Our mom is dying any day now, and I can’t even ask for comfort, because you’re going to think I’m being a pervert.”

“Oh.” Patrick responded to the last bit. He thought a moment before adding, “I won’t think you’re a pervert.”

“What? Really? … You would let me hug you?”

“I would.”

“Now?”

“Well… isn’t it a bit odd to… schedule… a hug? Only missing a countdown? No maybe we should hug later. But it’s not out of the question, in a time like this.”

Charlie tried to hide a grin, and he refrained from asking, ‘Who are you, and what have you done with Patrick?’

And before the moment was too sappy, Patrick excused himself from the room. He had a wedding to get ready for, after all. And he had nothing to wear.

 

 

Too much. It was too much for Patrick. He was at the outdoor wedding site, almost an hour early, and it was so blatantly obvious that this was a gay wedding; or at least, a half-gay wedding… The fine decorations and the seventies records playing gave it away. An Elton John song pierced the air like a bad joke. He spotted Mr. Garrison hanging around his best man, looking nervous and fiddling with the neck of his tie. Patrick was surprised he wasn’t wearing a scarf or pink frilly boa. He suddenly regretted not wearing one himself.

 

“Derek.” Patrick approached his old teacher with a superior, entitled attitude. “On your way to the gallows, I see.” He said it with feeling.

The best man looked visibly offended on behalf of the groom. “Who are you to-”

 “And you’re the man he’s obviously been sleeping with.” Patrick presumed aloud.

“What an insolent little prick!” The best man amended. The choice of words only confirmed Patrick’s suspicions. “Who is this Derek?!”

Patrick answered first. “Derek used to doctor my grades. After we played doctor first, that is.”

“A lie!” Derek finally spoke before the best man (still unnamed) could.

“Does your girl know you’re gay? Because if she doesn’t she’s in for a _big surprise_.” Patrick paused, backing away. Then he looked meaningfully at his old teacher’s crotch. “Actually, it’s really not _that_ big.”

And then he was off, leaving the man to stew and reconsider his doom. And he deserved it. It was really just desserts, considering that the man took Patrick’s virginity, back in fifth grade. It was amazing that no one suspected that a teacher who privately tutored only male students was screwing them as well. He would never forget the first day Derek touched him. ‘I can help you with your test.’ The man had said. ‘You’ll get an A this time. And don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.’ The first of many lies his teacher told him.  He supposed that he should be happy that the man would be living in repression for the rest of his life, but the principle of the thing upset him; just one more gay man in the world denying his true nature. Maybe that’s why he confronted Derek. Or maybe he just wanted to get the last laugh before he said goodbye forever.

He was just about to hop into the car parked at the curb when his phone rang. He looked at the screen: It was Ben. He quickly answered, frozen on the spot. Ben never called him. It seemed the man could ever only communicate by text messaging; or maybe smoke signals; Patrick hadn’t tried that yet.

“Ben!” Patrick sounded alarmed, and the conversation hadn’t even begun.

“That’s my name, you don’t have to shout it.” Ben’s voice sounded hoarse; that cold hadn’t gone away yet.

“What’s going on?” Patrick had to get down to the point. He already had a knot in his stomach; his instincts told him this wasn’t a good phone call.

“Well…” Ben was hesitating, trying to come up with a good way to say whatever it was he was going to say. “I went to the doc the other day and…”

“And?!”

“It’s not good.”

Patrick’s knees went weak and hit the grass, his forehead touching the hot metal on the car door.

The two just sat there on the line, not saying anything, but the heavy breathing and sniffling on Ben’s end indicated that he was crying.

Patrick eventually remembered where he was: kneeling on the curb right outside a park, where a wedding was about to take place. People were starting to stare. Blurry eyed, Patrick got up and went around the car to get in the driver’s side. Once inside, Patrick wiped his nose with his sleeve. He waited until Ben composed himself as well. Then, a very weak query “Is it AIDS?”

“Yeah.” Ben confirmed frankly. “Apparently I’ve got three different kinds of cancer.”

“How long?” Patrick knew it was terminal; he could hear it in Ben’s voice. Ben was a fighter; but the fighter had just been told that there is no battle to fight; he was already consumed.

“Couple weeks, maybe. They gave me the option of dialysis, and a lung transplant, and all that shit, but I’d be hooked up to tubes my whole life. I couldn’t have that.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t.” Patrick was still floored by the short prognosis. “How long have you had-”

“You should get tested.” Ben answered without really answering.

“Percy.” Patrick just about seethed. His anguish turned to anger, and then to anguish again.

“I may have gotten it from the get-go, and if that’s the case, you and I were still… _involved_ …then. I could have given it to you.”

“I’m clean.” Patrick double checked in his mind when he’d gotten tested last: three weeks ago. Totally safe. But all of a sudden he got a paranoid feeling about Gregor. And that one time they probably didn’t use a condom. “Oh fuck.” Patrick said immediately after that thought. “I’m gonna get tested. I just thought about Gregor.”

“You and him?” Ben didn’t sound too surprised.

“Yeah, just twice, but I don’t think he used a condom the second time and…” He was about to tell Ben about the terrible thing Gregor did to him; about the porn, but he thought better of it. This phone call was about Ben after all.

“Let me know how it goes.” Ben started to end the conversation.

“I will.”

“Love you…” Ben hung up, because he didn’t expect a response.

The line was dead, but Patrick said it anyway.

 “I love you too.”

 

 

Charlie was sitting in the living room when Patrick returned from his “errands.” He was surprised to find Martha sitting in the room as well, in her recliner, doing some knitting. Funny, Patrick never ever saw her sit down long enough to do something like knitting. Now the woman had all the time in the world to knit. She had nothing else to do.

“So Erika,” Martha said in her rarely-used busybody voice. “Where is this girlfriend of yours? I still haven’t met her, and you’re giving birth to her niece in eight months!”

“She’s in Africa, I told you. She’s in the Peace Corps.”

Patrick thought it sounded like a cover story, but knowing Erika’s tendency towards saintly behavior, it was probably the truth. 

“I just think it’s funny,” Charlie started “That all three of us kids turned out gay.”

“Yes, but it is so delightful!” Martha prattled on. “You have no idea how much fun I have telling people about my gay children. I pull out the wallet photo, the one with all three of you on our camping trip, and I say, “See those beautiful children? All fags, every last one of them.” She had a little giggle at her kids’ expense. “I love to see them go red as a fire engine and walk away!” She of course used the word ‘fag’ as a term of endearment; something only her kids would understand. And they did.

 

Charlie was the first one to notice Patrick at the living room entryway. He saw the red, puffy eyes and the tear streaks down his face. The young man was standing in just the right spot so that only Charlie could see him, no one else. Charlie quickly excused himself, and made a beeline to the kitchen, where Patrick was headed.

“What’s wrong?” Charlie’s voice was so soft, so caring. Patrick was tempted just to fall into Charlie’s arms, but he stopped himself, and just tucked his arms around his chest. The tears returned. He’d never had such a bad headache in his life. It was from all the crying.

“I need to get tested.” Patrick said quietly, but urgently.

Charlie didn’t even ask questions. Or at least questions could wait for another time.  He ushered Patrick to the car and shut the door for him. It was his turn to care for Patrick.


	10. Realizations

Sweaty hands. Patrick hated sweaty hands. He wiped them repeatedly on his slacks, not caring that it was blatantly clear: he was nervous. He and Charlie waited in the seating area of a Quick Care Clinic, awaiting the results of his blood test. Looking for something else to fiddle with, the impatient patient picked at the tape and cotton ball they put on his arm to staunch the blood.

“Patrick McLeod?” The nurse called his name, and Patrick jumped. Here it was: the fateful reveal. Charlie ushered his brother to meet the nurse at the hallway, and the woman handed him a piece of paper. She didn’t tell him to wait for anything else, or that he was done, just walked away, very busy with other patients.

“I can’t read it.” Patrick was in a foggy daze. He handed the paper over to Charlie, who took it bravely. They walked to the car and got in before Charlie unfolded the test results. He studied the page for some time, reading all the information before returning to the top of the page.

“Don’t tell me.” Patrick winced, dreading the suspense but also not really wanting to know. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re clean.”

“I’m what?” Patrick almost didn’t hear over the doubts in his head screaming at him.

“You’re clean.”

“Oh my God…” Patrick felt like an anvil had just been taken off his chest. “Phew. I really dodged a bullet there…”

“Mmhmm…” Charlie murmured. He started the car and began their drive home to Martha’s house.

Patrick noticed the grim expression. “What? Aren’t you glad?”

“I am. I just…”

“What?”

Charlie sighed. “I just wish you never had to worry about STD’s… I wish you saw the value of monogamy the way I do.

“I do value monogamy.” Patrick surprised Charlie with his answer. “I just haven’t found that person yet.”

Charlie inwardly wished that Patrick could see what has been in front of him for the last eight years. He wished that Patrick would finally let someone move into that empty heart.

 

 

“I’m glad you guys are back.” Erika greeted as soon as the boys walked in the door. “Martha wants to talk with you, Patrick.”

 

Anticipation, and a small dose of anxiety tugged at Patrick’s stomach as he made his way to Martha’s bedroom. He went in without knocking; Martha didn’t seem to like all the knocking going on; she never saw a need for such a formality; her home was always open, after all.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat, dear.” Martha motioned for the bed. Patrick obeyed. At first, Martha said nothing; just looked at the handsome young man her boy grew up to be; taking it all in. Patrick wondered if the three foster kids ever looked comical to anyone when they were together as kids; A short red head, a tall, gangly brunette, and a Cherokee girl with jet black hair. Yes, they were really a sight to see. But to them it was family; but in a distant sort of way now. Patrick started wishing he hadn’t moved away. Roots didn’t seem so bad now that he was grieving.

Martha broke the silence first. “I wanted you to know that you have my blessing.”

“For what?”

“You know what, Patrick. You and Charlie. I always knew I did right in not adopting you two officially, and instead letting you emancipate. This way it is not only fate, but it is also legal. Not too long ago, but before you were born, being a homosexual was illegal. And I am grateful that you two are not legally brothers. That would have really muddled things up. I-”

“I’ll have to stop you there Martha. I’m sorry.” Patrick’s throat formed a lump; his voice went ragged. “I am aware that Charlie has feelings for me. And I know it’s legal, but that unfortunately does not enter into the equation for me.”

Martha’s smile fell. She knew what Patrick was going to say next.

“I don’t love him.” Suddenly, the moment the words left his mouth, Patrick’s heart skipped a beat; all his saliva dried up and he couldn’t swallow. And he couldn’t believe it; all his symptoms were back: the symptoms of a lie. Not only was it a lie, but he didn’t know it was a lie until he said it. And it had been years since he even had a single conviction about telling a lie, even longer since he was physically affected by telling one.

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” Martha said with a pitying frown.

“You’re right.” Patrick admitted without thinking. He was still reeling from the internal events that just occurred. “I have to go.” He decided suddenly. Where? He didn’t even know that. But he knew that he had to find a place to think; to sort out all the crazy things that were going through his mind, and his heart. The cobwebs were being swept away inside each of the chambers of his heart. Blood flowed freely through his arteries, and with it, feelings of passion and affection and need.

 

Love.

 

Patrick left the house, carrying nothing but a lightweight backpack and his phone. He had no idea where was headed, or how long he would be gone. But he did know that he could not see Charlie until he had it sorted. If he did, he knew he would do something he would later regret: he would tell Charlie that he loved him. And that would ruin everything.

 

For his self-centered lifestyle, that is.

 

 

“Patrick, I don’t know where you went. I’m starting to get worried about you. So is Erika. Please call back just to tell me you’re okay.”

 

“Patrick… I’m really, really worried now. We want you back here; Martha’s taken a turn for the worse. They have a hospice nurse here. They say it won’t be long… Please come.”

 

Patrick erased the voicemails to make room for more; his inbox was full of messages. Half from Charlie, and half from Erika. Oh, and one from Gregor, which he deleted without listening to. He sat in a Subway restaurant, picking lazily at a salad while he listened to the concerned messages. He hadn’t been able to charge his phone for two days. He was too busy walking the streets of Michigan to sit somewhere and let his battery charge. The last message made him lose interest in his lunch altogether.

“Martha’s gone, Pat. The funeral’s at the church I used to sing in the choir at. Saturday at ten. Hope you’ll make it… If you’re still alive that is. I’m praying that you are. Call me. Please.”

Patrick’s heart and stomach sunk upon hearing the totally broken Charlie on the other end of the line. It made him realize just how selfish he’d been to grieve on his own. Charlie needed him. And he’d failed to be there. And, if was totally honest with himself, the two and a half days he spent alone really didn’t help him sort things out. It just made things worse. He came out of his pilgrimage with more doubts, more fears, and less answers than ever before. Patrick resolved to find answers. And he knew where he was going to start. But first he had to figure out where the hell he’d wandered off to.

 

 

 

The church was packed. Patrick spotted Charlie’s shaggy hair in the very front of the church, sitting next to Erika and a very dark skinned gal, who he presumed was Erika’s girlfriend, back from the Peace Corps.

Although he could have quietly walked to the front of the church to sit with his family, and shock them all to pieces, Patrick decided to sit in the back, next to an old couple who were not really quite “with it.”

It was the only empty slot in the back.

 

Only short of a miraculous appearance of Saint Peter, or ascension into heaven, the funeral was everything that Martha would have wanted. It went on for over three hours, only because of all the people, whose lives Martha had touched, spoke on end about her at the podium. Some of them were old enough that they should have lost their microphone privileges (they were more than just a little prone to rambling) but it was charming and refreshing all the same. Not that Martha would have wanted all the compliments and praises, but she would have wanted people to share the good times with one another, so no one had to grieve alone. Patrick fought a tear at that thought. He loathed himself for leaving Charlie for the last three days, without any word. But it was over now. All of that was over now. He was sure of it. He was willing to change, for the sake of Charlie.

 

 

The sea of people finally died down about an hour after the ceremony. Charlie was probably all hugged-out, but Patrick didn’t care. He was planning a whopper of a hug for his brother very soon. But he also didn’t want to show his face just yet, so he hid in the confessional booth. He didn’t plan on there being anyone on the other side, and he just about jumped out of his skin when he heard “What is it my child?” coming from the priest’s side of the confessional. The old priest sounded weathered, and experienced, but also kind.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’m just hiding.”

“So am I.” The priest responded in a serious voice, but a joking manner.

“Who are you hiding from?” Patrick didn’t quite catch on that it was originally a joke.

“God. And you?”

“Well… God.” Patrick shrugged, conceding. “And my brother. I don’t want to see him just yet. The timing’s got to be right.”

“Ah. Would you like to share? This is a confessional booth after all; and we’re both here.”

“I don’t know… I’m not much of a Catholic…. Or a human being really.” Patrick said with guilt on his conscience. Damn, this priest was good. He was just an inch away from citing what he’d seen on television: ‘Forgive me father for I have sinned.’

“I’m not either; too many rules, for _both_. Why don’t you just tell me what’s troubling you?”

Patrick couldn’t resist it anymore. He just had to spill. And he did. For over and hour. He cried a little, cursed a little, and confessed much. In fact he told his whole story to that nameless priest; a stranger who cared so much for another. His greatest burden was of course about Charlie; then Ben; then his mother; and then the porn. The priest listened intently; sympathetically. He only asked a small question here or there, but mostly he just listened. And that was exactly what Patrick needed. After it was all done, it was the priest’s turn to speak. His first wise words, “There are some tissues in the wooden box in front of you.” Patrick obliged.

Then the priest spoke again. “I am very troubled to hear your story… I’m not much of a good Catholic, so I can’t tell you just how many Rosaries or Hail Mary’s you need to say in order to make up for your _many_ carnal acts, and I also can’t tell you what God would say in this situation…” A long pause sat in the middle of his speech. “But I can tell you that love is all you’ve got. Not lust - do not confuse the two - but love. The sacrificial, unconditional, over-the-moon, to-the-stars-and-back, do-anything-for-that-person kind of love. And if you’ve got it, or have the opportunity to have it, you would be a fool to pass up the opportunity. You may never get the chance again.”

Patrick couldn’t believe that he was getting this kind of advice from a priest. A priest should have condemned him for even thinking of touching a man, let alone being in love with one, and pursuing a relationship. And yet here the priest was, telling him to go to Charlie; to go for it. He certainly didn’t want to wait around for either of them to come to their senses, so he said a quick goodbye and bolted out of the confessional booth. He ran down the aisle of the church, his footsteps echoing off the walls like dramatic markings of his determination to make things right.

And he would make things right. He just had to.


	11. Obstacles

Running. Burning. Wheezing. Panting. For all the sit-ups and push-ups Patrick did at home to keep his torso in shape, not much could be said for his running. He was so out of shape. Martha’s house was only five blocks from the church, and yet Patrick was just about ready to give up running halfway through. He had no idea why he was still running; this meant he was going to be falling (perhaps unconscious) into Charlie’s arms while smelling like sweat and body odor. He decided to slow down to catch his breath. At least the unconscious part would be taken out of the equation.

The sweaty, disheveled looking young man snuck into the side door of the bungalow, hoping Erika wouldn’t see him. But she did.

“Holy Fuck Patrick!” The girl’s shrill voice shouted angrily. “Where have you been?!”

“Where’s Charlie?” Is all Patrick could say.

“He went to go get pizza. He’ll be back in a few minutes.” Erika was about to start railing into her brother, when she suddenly noticed Patrick’s demeanor. It was the “I’ve-got-to-catch-him-before-he-leaves-I-have-to-tell-him-how-I-feel” sort of look in his eye. She’d seen it countless times before in the chick flick movies she and Patrick would watch on school nights instead of studying. “You’d better shower. And I left out a nice outfit for you on the bed, just in case you made it back for the funeral.”

Patrick sighed, grateful for his sister’s seemingly psychic abilities, and he quickly went up the stairs to freshen up.

 

“Sorry it took me so long, the guy made it wrong the first time.” Charlie brought in the extra large pizza in through the door, his melancholy state only getting worse.

Erika took the pizza box and set in on the small square dinner table. The hushed, button-lip expression on her face made Charlie wonder what on earth she was trying to keep secret.

“What’s going on?”

And it was in that moment that Patrick walked into the kitchen, and in that same moment that Charlie’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. It was not just Patrick’s presence that stunned him, but his appearance as well. The handsome, freckled redhead was dressed in black trousers, a black vest, and a green button-up shirt underneath. Charlie had never seen Patrick look so smart; so well dressed. It looked really good on him. It looked really sexy too.

“Hi.” Was all Patrick could manage. His urgency had completely died down from earlier. He felt shy, almost timid now that he was really in the moment. Now that Charlie was looking at him with such wonder; such infatuation; such love.

“Hi.” Charlie replied. “…I was so worried about you.”

“I know.” Patrick looked ashamed. Charlie wanted to wipe the look off his brother’s face. He took a step closer, and then two steps closer. He was very close now. He lifted Patrick’s chin gently and looked into his eyes. There, he gained permission inside the beautiful green soul-windows. He leaned down and kissed Patrick, right there in the kitchen, his sister completely forgotten. And so was the rest of the world. All that existed was the kiss. He and Patrick, his one true love. It was a chaste kiss, but it conveyed so much meaning. Patrick could do nothing but let it happen, and enjoy it. He was tempted to pull his brother in closer; to egg him on; to turn the kiss more passionate. But he refrained. It wasn’t the right time for passion right then. When the kiss was done, Charlie loosened the grip on Patrick’s chin, but Patrick still looked up anyway. A smile crept on his lips. “Thank you.”

“For the kiss?” Charlie whispered.

“For not giving up on me.”

Charlie felt the urge to kiss Patrick again, and he did, this time a little bit more passionately. Patrick felt as though he was getting swept away by a heavenly gust of wind. He felt ecstatic; nearly euphoric; all from a kiss. He wondered if it was Charlie, or just the novelty of being kissed. Or maybe it was the meaning of it all: Charlie loved him; and he was starting to love Charlie back. In any case, Patrick just enjoyed being kissed. He tried to contribute a little, to the kiss, but he feared he was just messing it up, so he just let Charlie do it. Eventually - and all too soon  - Charlie pulled back, looking at Patrick like he’d just made him the happiest man on earth. And he probably had. Then he just hugged Patrick tight. He would never let this one go; not ever.

 

 

 

“Patrick?... Patrick?”

“Hmm? Huh?” Patrick snapped awake, and out of his blissful dream. He was immensely disappointed to find himself still inside the confessional booth. How much of that had actually happened? How much of it was just a dream?

“Are you still in there?” It was Charlie’s voice. The cheeky mallard must have seen him go into the confessional. The question was, why did he leave him be for so long? Patrick rubbed his cheek, which had some drool and an obvious imprint of the metal grate that he’d fallen asleep against. Before he could say anything, Charlie slid the curtain open. He looked so tired; his eyes were puffy and red from crying, and his whole posture just exuded one word: broken.

“I was _so worried_ about you.” Well at least one part of the dream came true.

“I’m sorry.” Patrick stayed seated on the cushioned bench inside. For some reason he felt the need to stay hidden from anyone else who may be in the church. He was rather embarrassed about the whole scenario. “I shouldn’t have left you Charlie. I was trying to sort out my own shit. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

Charlie felt completely stunned. He stood there, dumbstruck at what he’d just heard. Did Patrick really just apologize to him? He could count on one hand how many times Patrick said the word “sorry” and maybe only once or twice did he actually mean it. Patrick scooted over on the confession bench, indicating that Charlie should sit with him. Benches came in larger sizes now, so that larger people could fit. It was a perfect fit for the two skinny butts to sit next to one another. Charlie leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Patrick said nothing. He just let Charlie be. A good five minutes later Charlie finally straightened his posture and spoke to the front of the booth, not directly at Patrick. “I needed you here. I needed you, and you left me.” That hit Patrick right in the heart. It may have worked as a proverbial CPR maneuver, because Patrick certainly felt a stirring in his neglected, under-used heart. But he also didn’t know if Charlie was really speaking to him. He may have been talking to God. The whole thing was rather confusing.

“Where have you been?” Still, not very clear. “I’ve called you countless times; why didn’t you answer?”

Patrick just had to find out whether or not Charlie was really asking him the questions, or if he was just interrogating the Man Upstairs. He was just about to ask, when Charlie finally turned his head to look into Patrick’s eyes. They were so close. Patrick could have easily kissed him. Charlie could have easily kissed Patrick. But Charlie didn’t. Why didn’t he? What was stopping him? They exchanged searching looks; Charlie was looking for answers; Patrick searching for permission.

“I want to kiss you.” Patrick finally breathed, barely a whisper.

“You what?” Charlie reared back, almost falling out of the confession booth. His voice had raised, but then he remembered to bring it back down to a whisper, which was more like a hiss. “Are out of your gourd?”

“I thought you would want one. I mean, we are both very emotional right now. I thought-”

“Exactly. We’re both very emotional right now. Patrick we can’t get involved like this; not right after a funeral. As soon as we’re done grieving, you’ll realize just how big of a mistake it was. You’re going to break my heart, Patrick. You’ve done it before you will certainly do it again.” Charlie’s words carried real anger; real hurt. And Patrick began to doubt. Maybe this just was hormones and emotions. Maybe after all the shock and sadness wore off he would hate Charlie again. He didn’t know of any other way to find out but to test it. “I don’t know if this is just ‘heat of the moment’ crap.” Patrick admitted. “But I do know that if I go one more day without a hug; a kiss; then I might just not be able to make it through this.”

Charlie sat agape, staring and yet still sympathizing while his brother burst into tears.

“Ben is dying.” Patrick blurted through his sobbing. “I can’t lose him, Charlie. I just can’t. I love him. I really do. I love him, Charlie.”

Patrick was beginning to ramble, and Charlie was still recovering from the initial shock of the news to really notice. He barely even noticed the mantra of ‘I love him,’ but when he did he couldn’t even bring himself to be jealous. Just the confession of love for _anyone_ made Charlie want to weep with joy. He was all out of tears though, so he just smiled as he put his arm around Patrick. The small body rocked and vibrated with torment and grief. Endless tears fell onto Patrick’s jeans and onto the floor. Loud sobs and hiccups filled the empty sanctuary; the confessional curtain did nothing to dampen the noise. He ran out of tissues, so Patrick used his sleeves next. Charlie did nothing but sit there, trying to be a comfort to his brother. Sometimes he used his own sleeve to delicately wipe a tear off of the freckled cheeks.

It stopped rather suddenly, the weeping. Patrick realized that his head was about to explode from the pressure in his sinuses. When the physical pain outweighed the emotional relief, Patrick stopped crying. He honked his nose on some soggy tissues, hoping to clear his swollen sinuses. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that.” Patrick said in a nasally congested tone. His voice was hoarse, “I am so tired.”

“Me too.” Charlie soothed. “Let’s go home and take a shower, and get some rest, okay? Then we’ll pack up and go back to Nevada to see Ben.”

Patrick was grateful that Charlie was the one calling the shots right then. If he were the one making decisions, he just might find himself at the edge of a cliff, or a very tall bridge. Charlie gently escorted his brother out of the church, and into the car. A few rogue tears escaped Patrick’s resolve, but for the most part he was becoming more lucid. He just couldn’t wait to take a hot shower.

 

 

“You look much better.”

Patrick awoke to the sight of Charlie lying face-to-face with him on the bed. Their noses where just inches away.

“I feel much better. How long did I sleep?” Patrick began to stretch, getting the stiffness out of his sore muscles.

“Well we got home at about five, and it’s eleven in the morning right now, so just under eighteen hours.”

“Seriously? Wow I must have really needed it.”

“If the bruises on your feet are anything to go by, I’d say you did.”

“Yeah I walked for a little while.” Patrick said as an obvious understatement.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving. But don’t go anywhere just yet. I like this spot.” Patrick snuggled a little closer to Charlie, his head tucked under the other’s chin and an arm around one another. Patrick breathed in the scent of clean skin and soap still lingering on Charlie’s bare skin. Patrick hadn’t bothered to look, until now, but he was nearly as naked as the day he was born. Both of them were just wearing underwear. They both had passed out on the bed right after their showers the night before, not caring to get dressed. Now here they both lie, in their underwear, holding each other very closely, very intimately. It didn’t take long for Patrick’s cock to get with the program. Charlie noticed the erection poking into his abdomen, and his breath hitched with arousal.

Soon the two were just vibrating with sexual heat and tension, neither of them daring to move in fear of ruining the warm embrace they started out with.

Patrick was the first to move. He looked up at his beloved brother, the man who had been infinitely patient with him, and said, “I don’t know what this means, or what it will mean in the future, but I do know that I need this right now. I need it so badly.” And with that, Patrick kissed Charlie. He kissed him so well, and with such a compelling need, that Charlie outright whimpered.  The two inexperienced kissers explored each other’s mouths, enjoying the amazing tingling in their nervous system and the intensifying arousal thrumming through their bodies. Charlie was every bit as enthusiastic as his brother. Patrick had never been enjoyed like this: kissed like they were in a desert, and his mouth was the only source of water; kissed like there was no tomorrow; kissed like he was loved.

Patrick hadn’t really intended for the passion to turn sexual so quickly, but they were both panting and whimpering from the pain their arousals were causing. Patrick reached down to grip Charlie’s cock that was threatening to rip through his ever-tightening underwear. He received a surprised (and yet relieved) moan from Charlie. Patrick didn’t want to give his brother a rug burn on his cock, so he slipped his hand inside the waistband to fondle the erection. Charlie had to stop kissing; his brain completely turned off the moment he felt the delicate, soft hand on his cock.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed in pure ecstasy. Patrick had never heard that expletive from Charlie before. He assumed that meant he was doing a good job. The problem with that was, he was only just starting, and Charlie seemed so close to orgasm. It made Patrick pause his ministrations.

“Charlie is this your first time?”

 


	12. Pansies

Charlie couldn’t decide how he should answer. What was the right answer? He wondered. What should he say so this wonderful feeling didn’t have to stop?

“I was saving myself, Patrick; I’m not a fucking nun.” Charlie said, his head clouded with hormones.

“I don’t want to ruin-” Patrick took his hand out Charlie’s underwear in retreat, but Charlie grabbed the hand before it could move too far away.

“I was saving myself for _you_ Patrick.”

“You were?”

“Don’t be so fucking blind.” Charlie forced Patrick’s hand to his genitals again, signifying that he just couldn’t let this freight train stop before it had completed its mission. “I love you Patrick. I want this to be special. It _is_ special. Now please do not stop what you’re doing.” Charlie pleaded one last time before his mind when completely blank again, whiting out with pleasure.  Patrick acquiesced obediently, determined to make this experience a perfect one for Charlie. He started with a simple jerk off, the underwear was still on. He decided it had to go. Charlie read his mind, and wriggled slowly and clumsily out of the restraining garment.

Patrick fondled Charlie’s balls while jerking off his cock. It was already too much for Charlie, and he writhed and begged on the bed. “Please! Please, no. Oh God it’s too much.” Patrick knew better than to take this as an actual ‘no.’ He was going to make Charlie feel the full force of sexual pleasure. He wasn’t going to slide him over the edge gradually. He was going to hit him over the fence like a home run.

But he decided that it was all going too fast. He didn’t want Charlie to finish just yet. So he scooted down the bed further, and turned Charlie so he lay on his back. Then the real fun began.

“HOLY JESUS, FUCK!” Charlie cried out when Patrick suddenly took his manhood into his mouth in one swift move. He gripped the sheets of the bed, in total rapture and being swept away by too much pleasure too soon.

Patrick was certainly enjoying himself too. His physical hunger in his stomach made him even more interested in sucking the cum right out of Charlie’s cock. And he knew that would not take long. And good thing too. Deep-throating was proving to be rather challenging; Charlie was impressively well-endowed. He wasn’t sure he’d sucked a cock that size before. If he had, it wasn’t on a white guy.

Patrick didn’t let his mind wander too far though. He wanted to enjoy watching Charlie come completely undone with ecstasy. And he was.

“God Patrick, you’ve got to stop.” Charlie begged unconvincingly. “I’m so close…. So fucking close.”

Patrick only went faster.

The sudden catch in his breath; the strangled moan; the involuntary, strong buck of the hips; Patrick knew this was the orgasm. He awaited the spurts of semen, and prepared for the amount Charlie was bound to have built up. But nothing happened. He thought maybe he felt a small amount of cum slide down his throat, but he didn’t taste it.

But if anything was wrong in the whole world, Charlie wouldn’t have noticed. He was reeling; completely breathless; staring at the ceiling like it was clouds, and he was soaring. Patrick was getting jealous. He took the softening cock out of his mouth and wiped his chin of the saliva he had collecting there. He lay right next to Charlie, hip-to-hip, while he saw to his own needs rather quickly. His aching erection was causing him to go dizzy. Or maybe it was hunger, with a touch of low blood-sugar too. He briefly wondered why Charlie had so little cum, and why he couldn’t taste it.

 

Charlie descended back into reality very slowly, but when he did, he saw Patrick, stark naked, jerking himself off right next to him. The very sight of it caused his limp cock to twitch; a weak salutation to the attractive, sexy man in bed with him.

“Here, let me help you.” Charlie offered a helping hand. Patrick wordlessly declined the offer, handing Charlie a tube of something instead. The bottle was clear, and unlabeled, but Charlie knew what it was: lube. Charlie tentatively poured a grape-sized puddle on his fingers and slid it around experimentally. He then grabbed Patrick’s hard erection, and started to massage. Patrick hummed in delight as Charlie took over. It had been forever since someone jerked him off; but he knew that if they just went with one source of stimulation, they would be here for a while. Patrick was not nearly as sensitive as Charlie anymore. He needed something a bit more to get off. He gave Charlie a few minutes to adjust to the new experience before introducing anything else. But to his surprise, Charlie was the one to say “Can I put my fingers… in you? Is that okay?”

“Fuck yes.” Patrick felt a pang of erotic arousal upon hearing Charlie’s eloquently innocent request. He poured more lube onto Charlie’s other hand, and guided the fingers to his ass. He crooked his leg and set it atop Charlie’s hip, so his partner had better access.

Charlie felt a little anxiety, but upon looking into Patrick’s eyes, he went with it; he penetrated his brother with a slicked middle finger. The tight heat surprised him. He had no idea it would be this warm, or this snug feeling inside. He tried not to be a completely incompetent lover. He moved his finger in and out, while still trying to stimulate Patrick’s cock. He wasn’t ambidextrous by any means, but he did his best.

“You can use two.” Patrick said between pleasured gasps.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It won’t hurt, trust me.” Patrick wisely didn’t mention the fact that if he could take a twelve-inch cock, then he could certainly take two fingers. He didn’t need any more one-sided jealousy going on.

Charlie did as he was told, and inserted another finger into the tight ass. Patrick moaned loudly with pleasure. He started to shudder, being consumed with the pleasure. But he still wasn’t much closer to orgasm, and Charlie’s hand was cramping from all the exploring inside Patrick’s ass.

The moaning redhead looked down at Charlie’s cock, and was happy to see that his partner was all ready for a round two. And with that, he gently pulled Charlie’s hand away from his ass, letting the fingers slip from the warm confines. Without giving Charlie time to ask, Patrick lay himself out on all fours, ass in the air, and head laying on a pillow. He gave his skinny ass a tiny sway, wordlessly communicating his desire.

“I don’t have anything with me…” Charlie said utterly disappointed. There was nothing he wanted more than to put his cock into that tight heat.

“It’s okay. I’m clean, you’re clean. It’ll be fine.” Patrick never thought he’d actually say those words, and especially not to Charlie, but he was right. It’s not like Charlie would have any STD’s.

Charlie didn’t need too much assurance after that. He let his cock do all the thinking. Barely remembering to slick up with lube, Charlie was ready and randy to fuck Patrick senseless.

“Go slow.”Patrick warned before it started; he knew that Charlie would be gentle, but he also knew that his brother’s mind was clouded with arousal. He didn’t want pain this time. He wanted a slow, gentle, romantic fuck.

And Charlie gave it to him. His slick cock slid inside Patrick with little resistance, and he didn’t stop going in until he couldn’t go any further. His balls felt incredible when they came in contact with warm, slippery flesh. “Oh God.” Charlie exclaimed breathlessly. “You’re so tight.” He couldn’t say anything more, his mind was completely taken over with pleasure. The ability to compose words left him; all that was left were expletives expressing intense pleasure.

And Patrick was certainly enjoying himself as well. Charlie’s large cock put pressure on his prostate, which made his twitch and groan with pleasure, and brought him close to orgasm. 

Charlie found a rhythm, going slowly in and out of the tight, heavenly warmth. He was relieved that Patrick seemed okay with going slow. He had very little experience, and he was afraid to try to go any faster; at least not yet.

He reached his hand around to massage Patrick’s slick cock, and it caused an erotic shout from Patrick. “I’m so close!”

The confession alone nearly sent Charlie over the edge again, but he steeled himself, making sure that Patrick came first. He jerked the cock faster, and gave a few short, hard thrusts deep inside Patrick, and it was then that he heard it.

Patrick let out a feral scream; a surprised, and intense cry of pleasure that rocked him to his very core. Semen went everywhere, all over the sheets and all over Charlie’s hand.

Charlie couldn’t hold on any longer. He came suddenly, freezing up and then convulsing in ecstatic bliss coursing through his body. He felt a little stream of cum leave him, and it was dispensed into Patrick’s tight passage.

“Oh God…” Charlie gasped as he collapsed onto Patrick’s back. He left his still-hard cock buried inside his partner, not willing to give up the electric overstimulation it was causing his spent cock. 

Patrick seemed to have fallen back asleep already, and Charlie decided it wasn’t a bad idea to join him. They had a long trip back home; and they should enjoy the bliss while they have it.

 

 

“You didn’t cum a whole lot…” Patrick randomly commented on their long drive home to Nevada. Charlie was driving, and Patrick was awfully lucky he didn’t swerve upon hearing a statement like that.

He didn’t know how to respond, so he just gave an exasperated look to Patrick.

“I just thought it odd, is all. Have you always cum so little? I mean… when you’ve masturbated?”

Patrick had no difficulty asking such an intimate question; he could talk about semen volume all day. But Charlie was another story. His face had become red from embarrassment. “I….have…. looked it up, mind you…” A pause; a long one. “And according to some random sex question website, if you don’t… use up… your…. Ejaculate for some period of time, your…. Semen factory… gets the idea and all but stops the production, since it’s not being spent. At least until it’s needed again.”

Patrick had never heard of such a thing. He had also never heard of anyone staying chaste long enough to find that out. He had also never heard Charlie so flustered. It was adorable.

“How long?”

“How long what?” Charlie’s patience was wearing thin; he hated conversations about sex.

“How long does it have to be before your testicles ‘take a bow’ as it were?”

“A few months, at least.”

“Hold on….” Patrick feigned a feeling of faintness. “You mean to tell me that you haven’t masturbated in months? Holy fuck. Are you even human?”

“I am, as far as I know.” Charlie gritted his teeth ruefully. He couldn’t believe he was talking to Patrick about his masturbation habits (or lack thereof.) “And what about you, huh? How would you like for me to pry into your sexual history? Would you be so willing to tell me about Gregor, and Ben, and who knows how many one-night stands that you’ve had?”

“What would you like to know?” Patrick responded genuinely. Sex was something he could talk about; to anyone, really, not just Charlie.

Charlie was stumped at first. He really did not want to know about anyone else’s sexual prowess. He didn’t want to think that Patrick had many other lovers to compare him to; many sexy, experienced lovers who know how to give a young man a really good time. Charlie tried to pretend those men in Patrick’s past didn’t exist. And he tried not to hate their guts. But an idea struck him. He just realized what he really wanted to know; now that Patrick was giving him carte blanche.

“Did you ever love _any_ of them?”

“Yes.” Patrick responded in a saddened tone. “Ben. I still love him. I’ve been such a fool to think I didn’t. I was even more of a fool to think I couldn’t. And I can’t help but to blame myself for Ben’s illness.”

“Why?” Charlie’s heart was starting to hurt again. He made sure to keep his eyes dry and mostly on the road as he drove.

“He turned to Percy because I wasn’t willing to turn our sexual relationship into a romantic one. Percy’s the one who got him sick.”

Charlie nodded slowly, taking in all the facts. “Didn’t Percy ever get tested? What was he thinking?” He referred to both Ben and Percy.

“I don’t know, but I do know that Ben is very careful about that sort of thing. My guess is that Percy was clean to begin with, but was perhaps sleeping around with other people while still involved with Ben. Then Ben got it from Percy later, when he still thought that they were exclusive, and he didn’t see the need for condoms.”

“Jesus…” Charlie shook his head. “A deadly lie, that is for sure... I wonder if Percy realized that he was endangering Ben, or if he just didn’t give a shit.”

“I just can’t see how anyone could sleep around on a guy like Ben. I mean, the guy is a god in bed. I mean really, a _god_.”

“Gee, thanks for that picture.” Charlie muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Look, you should sleep some more. We’re almost to Ben’s house.”


	13. Sorrows

Patrick couldn’t force himself to knock on the door of Ben’s house. Charlie saw the hesitation, and knocked on the door for his brother. A kind looking, yet solemn young lady answered the door. She had the same dark hair as Ben, and Patrick assumed that it was Ben’s sister.

Ten minutes and two cups of tea later, Patrick’s assumptions had been confirmed, and a couple of questions about Ben’s condition were answered. He had AIDS, on top of three other aggressive cancers that could only be slowed by partial or complete removal of a lung, kidney, and liver. None of Ben’s family pushed to have any invasive surgeries done. They didn’t want to put their brother through that. Ben didn’t want it either. He wanted to go with peace, dignity, surrounded by his family, and most important of all: not in a hospital.

 

Brianna, the sister, showed Patrick the way to the bedroom to visit Ben (although Patrick was already very familiar with Ben’s bedroom, he didn’t want to let Brianna know that.) A phonograph was playing quietly in the room: The Cloud Atlas Sextet, from one of Ben’s favorite films. Patrick recognized it right away because it was the only orchestral vinyl that Ben owned.

Patrick kept his eyes glued to the carpet at first. He hesitated to look up. He knew what death looked like already. It was so fresh in his mind, and in his heart. But he had to. It was his friend.

But what he saw shocked him. The Ben he saw just two weeks before, healthy, relatively happy, and successful, was gone. The only thing that remained was a skeleton of man, floppy with ashen flesh and sunken eyes. The only sign of life was a slow rising and falling of a grotesque rib cage.

“Ben?” Patrick said quietly, to see if he was awake, but also to see if he really was Ben. He vainly hoped this was some sort of sick joke played on him.

Ben stirred, and his eyes flitted open to see the guest. A giant smile spread across his face upon seeing his best friend. “Pat. You’re here.”

“Yeah, of course I’m here. I heard you’re dying, so it’s not like I could miss that…” Patrick tried to make a joke, and Ben took it well, and with a smile. 

“Yeah, you have no idea how hard it is to die around here… I’ve had to talk to lawyers, distant relatives, and neighbors that I haven’t met even after living here for ten years. Do you have any idea how many slices of banana bread I’ve been forced to eat in the last couple of days?”

“Judging by your weight, I’d say none.” Patrick said frankly.

“Yeah, well that would be the illness. I can eat all I want and I can’t gain an ounce. It’s eating me alive. I’ve lost thirty pounds in eight days.”

“Oh hush, don’t you let those health magazines get a hold of you; they would use you as their next ‘get skinny’ gimmick.” Patrick brought the playful banter that Ben missed. He delivered it with such ease, and with a straight face; Ben’s favorite kind of humor.

“Oh I missed you.” Ben rasped quietly.

“I missed you too.” Patrick knew it was unorthodox, but he decided to hop up onto the bed next to where Ben sat reclined against a number of pillows. Bony as his friend was, Patrick leaned his head against the hard, bumpy ribcage. He heard the comforting beat of Ben’s heart; the universal sign of being alive. Ben was pleasantly surprised at Patrick’s suddenly intimate gesture, but he didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to ruin the moment. The two just lay there, enjoying each other’s company. After a little while, Ben felt Patrick’s chest heave in a light sob, and a moment later he heard it. Patrick was crying; something Ben had never seen, nor thought he would ever see.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? Sorry you’re crying? It’s fine; totally fine.” Ben comforted.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry that this happened to you… It’s all my fault.”

“Your fault? What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t have needed Percy if it weren’t for me.”

“Oh,Pat…”

“No, I’m serious.” Patrick sat up so he could look into his friend’s eyes. “I never told you that I love you.”

“It’s okay Pat-”

“But I do. I do love you Ben.” Patrick’s tears flowed freely from his sore eyes.

Ben couldn’t help but smile, but he had tears forming in his eyes. “How much?”

“I can’t imagine loving anyone more.”

“It’s too bad I’m an invalid right now… I would sweep you off your feet right here and give you a kiss.”

“Well, you won’t be doing any sweeping right now, but I _can_ kiss you. Would that be okay?”

Instead of answering, Ben pulled Patrick in by his shirt. Patrick held his hands out to support his weight so he didn’t crush Ben, who looked even frailer from this angle.

Ben closed the space between them, delicately pressing his dry lips to Patrick’s soft ones. They continued kissing softly and Patrick couldn’t help but smile while they did. He could feel joy radiating off his friend, and it was contagious.

Ben pulled away first. “God I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Patrick?”

“Yes?”

 “Will you marry me?”

 

 

 

It was a big leap; from only just confessing love for the first time, to committing to marriage. But Patrick was ready. He realized, of course, that if perhaps Ben wasn’t on his deathbed, the proposal may give him pause; he may have turned it down, even.

Morose as it was, Patrick wanted to make Ben the happiest man alive before he died. After all the horrible ways he mistreated Ben in the not-too-distant past, he knew he should at least give him that. And it wasn’t easy. Patrick never left Ben’s side. Taking care of a dying person was much harder than he anticipated. Ben dismissed his sister, who was about to lose her job in Reno if she didn’t return soon, and Patrick became the sole caregiver. Ben tried not to be too much of a burden. But he needed help. He couldn’t use the bathroom all on his own, and needed constant supervision while bathing. At times he hardly had the strength to keep his head above the bathwater.

Patrick cared for Ben’s every need, with hardly any thought to his own. His legs went un-waxed, his facial hair un-plucked, and his armpit hair started to make quite the comeback. In the course of a week he went from looking like a perfectly made-up stripper to just an ordinary young man. But he didn’t even notice. This was all about Ben now; his life, his love. Everything went into making Ben feel happy; loved.

Another thing that went unchecked was his own heart; Patrick’s living, beating, heart was filled with love, and ached for Ben’s terrible situation. Never once did it enter into his mind that he could have done anything differently, but he most certainly could have, and would have, only a month before. A month ago, he was trying with all his might to shut everyone out; to not care. A month ago he had an empty heart.

 

Now…. He was in love.

 

 

 

“Do I look alright?” Ben asked in a raspy, weak voice.

“You look so handsome.” Patrick assured his fiancé. “And I’m so excited.” It had been three weeks since the proposal, and Patrick had not left Ben’s side the entire time. He didn’t care that he didn’t have a job, or that he and Charlie might not be able to pay the rent that month.

“Me too…. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Only a dozen times or so… In the last five minutes.” Patrick tried to make the response sound cute; loving. But it was really a sad realization. The two of them had had this exact conversation a number of times in the last half hour. Ben didn’t remember.

It was hard to get Ben dressed up. It was even harder to get a Justice of the Peace who made house calls. But what was hardest of all was the wait; waiting for the guy to get there so they could finally say their vows, before it was too late. And Patrick feared that it might be. Ben’s mind was going, along with his memory and a few other faculties. Death was a messy business. And so was marriage, apparently.

 

“Patrick?” Ben’s breath came in short gasps all of a sudden, and it made Patrick’s heart stand still.

“Yes? What is it?” Patrick grabbed Ben’s cold clammy hand with both of his.

“I’m afraid I won’t make it to our wedding…”

“Sure you will. You’re doing fine. Just twenty more minutes.” Patrick’s eyes filled with tears; he knew Ben was right. He knew that he was going; right before his very eyes Ben was slipping away.

“I love you.” Patrick blurted, as if it was somehow going to resuscitate him. He laid his ear on Ben’s still chest. He heard the faintest of heartbeat, ever slowing. 

He lifted his head to give his true love one last kiss.

 

And as he did, he knew that he felt Ben kiss back.

 

Ever so slightly.

 

 

 

The funeral was everything Ben wanted. Over the three weeks Patrick spent with him, Ben made his wishes very clear. Only his closest friends and family were there. They all stood silently on the edge of a tall cliff, overlooking the most beautiful mountain range and a breathtaking canyon. Holding Ben’s remains, Patrick gripped the ceramic urn tightly, trying not to cry. There was a moderately strong wind pulling at him, and he suddenly realized just how easy it would be to step out; to let the wind carry him over the edge of the cliff and…

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He had to fulfill Ben’s wishes.

 

“Ben wanted this.” Patrick broke the silence to begin the memorial. “He wanted us all here, looking at this view. I guess he wanted us to know how fucking small we are. I mean look at this… Look at that mountain, that canyon…” Patrick wasn’t really sure where he was headed with his speech, and in some crazy way he felt like Ben was speaking through him. “…All we have is love. We might be ants - smaller than ants - in respect to the universe, but love makes us different. It’s what makes us matter.” He felt an encouraging hand on his back; it was Charlie. He gave a small smile, and it was all Patrick needed to keep going. “Ben didn’t have a whole lot of requests. ‘Just make sure I’m really dead’ was his biggest one. I think he was scared shitless at the idea of being buried alive, or something. He’d read some book on it. It was my idea to have him cremated; he agreed. I think the selling point was that it was cheaper. He didn’t want to burden anybody.” Patrick knew that at this point he was rambling, and quite possibly talking about things that were not appropriate for a funeral, but no one seemed perturbed. So he kept going. He’d kept silent for too long, about Ben. “I loved him. He didn’t really know it until it was too late; Even I didn’t know until it was too late. And I guess I know better now…..  I know better now…”

Patrick was done, and he felt more than one hand on him in support. 

Charlie reached around him and took his hands. Together, they both lifted the lid of the urn, and tipped it together. Patrick let out a staggered gasp as the realization hit him: the cloud of sandy ashes blowing in the wind, over the canyon; that was Ben; his Ben.

A few tears slipped down his cheeks, and as he bowed his head, he thought again about the cliff. His feet were no more than ten inches away from a thousand foot drop. It would be painless. It would be easy. He supposed the only thing keeping him from joining Ben in the canyon was Charlie (both figuratively, and literally.) Charlie hugged Patrick close to his chest protectively and comfortingly. Other family members offered a few thoughts, and memories; things Patrick never knew about Ben. All the stories just made him fall more and more in love. Was that sick? To be in love with a dead man? But he wasn’t dead; not really. He would always be alive within Patrick; within his heart. And one thing was for sure: There would never be anyone quite like his first love. But as the funeral ended, and they began the walk back down the hill, Ben’s words echoed in his mind, “Make sure you find someone nice, okay? Someone who can put up with your shit.”

Patrick had a feeling that he knew who Ben was talking about. But there was just one problem.

 

He really didn’t think he would recover from this. He really didn’t think he could ever let anyone into his heart again.

More and more, he was convinced. He would always be alone. He didn’t have room in his heart.

Not for Charlie, not for anyone.

 

No one but Ben, that is.  


	14. Bygones

“You should go back to work, Pat.” Charlie stood leaning on the doorway to Patrick’s bedroom, his gaze comprised of pity, with a hint of futility. This was at least the tenth time he tried to get Patrick out of his funk.  Patrick hardly ate or drank, and Charlie wasn’t sure when he ever got up to go to the bathroom; he surely didn’t shower. He was a slug. Worse than a slug; he was turning into a benign lump on the mattress.

“It’s been two weeks, Pat.” Charlie finally ventured into the bedroom, bracing himself for the smell of body odor and bad breath. He threw back the blankets to find a curled up Patrick, deathly skinny and unmoving.

“Patrick?” Charlie’s tone took a steep dive to that of worry. He shook the sweaty, clammy shoulder. A protesting groan came in reply, and Charlie let out an audible sigh of relief. “Look, you’re going to get out of this bed, and take a shower.”

A muffled objection came from somewhere in the curled-up ball. Charlie wondered how on earth the guy was so flexible.

“Yes, you are; even if I have to carry your smelly body into the shower.” It was an empty threat for the moment; Charlie did not want to manhandle his sweaty brother into the shower.

Patrick still didn’t move. Charlie sighed. Then an idea hit him. He hurried into the kitchen to put his plan into action.

Minutes later, the overwhelming smell of bacon filled the apartment to bursting. Charlie couldn’t resist snacking on a few pieces as they came out of the pan. He had total confidence his plan would work.

And he was right. Patrick, naked except for a pair of boxers, came sauntering into the kitchen, looking like a zombie.

“And he is back from the grave!” Charlie announced dramatically.

“Can I have some?” Patrick looked wide-eyed at the perfectly crisped bacon on the plate.

“Not till you shower and brush your teeth, bud.” Charlie held the plate high out of Patrick’s reach, with not much resolve; more like a gesture to make a trade than a hostage situation.

“Alright, fine.” Patrick turned around and headed towards the bathroom. Charlie didn’t lower his arm until he heard the shower running.

“Score one for Charlie.” He chuckled to himself. He finished up cooking the bacon and moved on to making eggs in the bacon grease. He looked at the clock out of habit, before realizing that it was the weekend; he had the day off. And good thing too; it was just after ten.

While listening to the sound of the shower, Charlie’s thoughts wandered. He popped some bread into the toaster and thought about Patrick. He thought about that one day, over a month ago, that Patrick kissed him; let him make love to him. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened in his life.

 It wasn’t long before Charlie realized he was just getting a boner out of all this daydreaming, so he decided to stop. He had no idea where Patrick was in all of this; what page he was on. He wished he could just tell Patrick how he felt. But it had only been two weeks since Ben’s funeral. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Was he a douche bag for wanting to make love to someone who was still grieving a lost love? Probably. So he decided to forget about it. Or at least try to.

 

 

“You happy now?” Patrick spread his arms out once he walked out of the bathroom, looking cleaner than a new tile floor. He was still a little wet; a towel hung lazily around his bony hips. The aroma of Irish Spring body wash nearly overcame that of the bacon.

“Not until you’ve eaten breakfast.” Charlie replied. He couldn’t contain his smile, however. And he knew that his boner was making a vengeful comeback. He slid a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast with jam in front of Patrick, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was already halfway eaten by the time he sat down with his own plate.

“I’m glad you’re eating. You look too skinny.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I’ve been so useless lately.”

“We’re going to have to find a cheaper apartment if you don’t get your job back.”

The sentences shared back and forth had a considerable lag time, since they were said in between big bites of toast and eggs. Patrick finished first, which was definitely a first in the history of forever.

“I can’t go back to the club.” Patrick forgot that he hadn’t told Charlie all the details of his leaving in the first place.

“Is it because you slept with Gregor? I’m sure whatever it is has blown over by now; it’s been two months.”

Instead of responding, Patrick got up to retrieve Charlie’s laptop from the living room. He powered it on and sat it on the kitchen table, facing Charlie. Charlie wiped his messy fingers on a paper towel before typing in his password. A confused look wrinkled his features.

“Go to The Internet; you know, The Web.” Patrick commanded awkwardly. He didn’t really know much about computers, or terms like “browser.”

Charlie obeyed, and then waited for the next instruction.

“Type in: hornyhiddencamera.com.”

“Look, Pat, I really don’t need porn I-”

“Just do it.” Patrick’s cheeks turned red, knowing what was coming next.

Charlie typed it in reluctantly, and hit the enter key. He averted his eyes, knowing that nothing but explicit images were about to pop up. Patrick waited a few moments, when Charlie finally looked at the main page for more than a millisecond.

“Oh. My. God…” Charlie’s eyes went wide and he shut the laptop abruptly.

“I know…”

“You’re…. You’re…”

“I know.”

“But why? You hate the internet!”

Patrick suddenly realized that Charlie wasn’t getting the point. “I didn’t choose it, okay? It’s called ‘hidden camera’ for a reason!”

“You’re telling me that you had no idea that your boss was putting your sex on the internet?” Charlie sounded skeptical.

“I had no idea he was even filming.”

Charlie looked as though he was going to say something, but then stopped. He went quiet for a moment; a long moment. Then he spoke. “This would make a really great lawsuit.”

“It would, Charlie, it really would. But God knows how many times those videos would have to get watched before the lawsuit was over.”

“They wouldn’t have to be. We’d just have to get ourselves a good lawyer.”

“And how would we pay for it if we lost?”

Charlie was stumped on that one. Patrick had a point. Lawyers were expensive. Good lawyers were exorbitantly expensive. They’d be gambling big time; banking on winning and then breaking the bank if they lost.

“You’re right… But there’s gotta be some law against this; the state can prosecute him.”

“But again, the videos; some jury’s going to watch them; maybe multiple times. It’ll get in the news. This is private stuff, okay?”

Charlie’s demeanor changed. He looked sad. He opened his laptop, closed the web browser, and then shut the laptop again. He sat slouched forward in his chair for a while, arms propped on his wide-spread knees and hands folded together. Patrick just sat and watched while Charlie thought for a long while.

“You should get dressed, okay?” Charlie said finally. Patrick didn’t like the look in his brother’s eyes. Something had changed just in the last five minutes. He didn’t know what it was, but it scared him.

“Okay…Are we going somewhere?”

“No, but I am.” Charlie stood and looked towards the door. Patrick stood up in front of him, as if he could really stop Charlie from going.

“Where? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take care of this.”

“Take care of it…. How?” Patrick’s voice was laced with worry.

“I’m going to go talk to Gregor; ask him to take the videos off the website.”

Patrick would have normally been alright with a response like that, but he had a feeling that Gregor would not take kindly to Charlie’s crusade.

“And what if he refuses?”

 

“I’ll kill him.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Charlie, how good to see you!” Gregor Morstov - or whatever his real name was - greeted Charlie with a convincing fake smile. Charlie had waited for over half an hour, it was blatantly obvious that he was not very welcome to just “drop by” as he did.

“Thanks for seeing me, Gregor.”

“I always have time for friends. What can I do for you?” The Russian accent was almost too much for Charlie; he could barely make out the correct words. Gregor plopped himself into his leather office chair and swayed it to and fro casually. This man was not afraid of anything; least of all, Charlie. He’d started to wonder if he should just leave right then. The image of the massive, ripped bouncer he met on the way in was almost enough to dissuade him from continuing. But he had to.

 

“I’m here to ask you to take the videos down; the ones with Patrick in them.”

“Videos? What videos?”

“You know what I’m talking about; the porn. Patrick never consented to you filming, or uploading videos of him having sex with you. You have to take them down.”

Gregor pretended to think for a moment. “Let’s say I do know what you are talking about; hypothetically. If I refuse to take them down you will…”

“I have some lawyer friends that would be more than happy to get involved.” Charlie lied as convincingly as Gregor, which would have to work for now.

“Hmm… Well there’s no need to get lawyers involved. I think we could come to some sort of arrangement.”

“There will be no arrangement.” Charlie would not be pushed around. “You either take the videos down, or we will sue you.”

 “Or?”

“Or, what?”

“There is always a third option, Charlie. There has to be. That is what negotiation is all about.”

“There is no negotiation. This is a threat. I’m threatening you.” Charlie found himself losing control of the situation very fast.

Gregor smiled. “Look, Charlie. I know you are lying. You have no lawyer friends; you have no money. You are just… what is that phrase…? Ah, yes, ‘talking out of your ass.’ It was a good try, but no cigarette.” Charlie bit his tongue to keep himself from correcting Gregor’s attempt at using a phrase. He was almost completely out of hope when Gregor finally said, “But I will make you a counter offer.”

“Yes?” Charlie listened carefully to the thick-accented man, so as to make sure not to miss anything.

“I take the two videos down, if you help me make two more. A trade.”

Charlie went white at the idea. He did not see this coming. Not in a million years. “You’re saying that I-”

“You will star in the videos, yes.”

Charlie had for a millisecond hoped that ‘help’ meant to work the cameras. “With… who? Exactly?”

“That has yet to be decided.” Gregor shrugged. “I have some very talented, very _big_ friends.”

Charlie doubted that the word ‘big’ had anything to do with waist size. He went even whiter; his hands were shaking uncontrollably and his tongue felt completely dry. “You mean I will be the… bottom?”

That is what’s in the videos; you are a replacement for Patrick. So yes, you will be bottom. Is that a deal breaker?”

Charlie shook his head without thinking first. “No, but… I’ve never… um… been the bottom before.”

“ _Really_ …” Gregor feigned disbelief. It was obvious Charlie was basically a virgin; he seemed scared shitless at the idea of having sex in front of a camera. “All the better for me; virgin videos are ever so popular… So do we have a deal?”


	15. Undertakings

Charlie couldn’t fathom what had just transpired at the club. Things went very, very differently than how he planned on his way there. He was to threaten Gregor, and then kill him if he refused to cooperate. How had things gone so wrong? But had they really gone wrong? He didn’t have to kill anyone. That was nice. Life in prison wasn’t on his plate at the moment; an undeniable plus. And the videos would be taken down, and Patrick’s dignity restored. But at what cost? Was it worth it? Charlie thought so. The real problem would then be to try and keep the deal a secret from Patrick. Charlie tried to tell himself that he could; that he wouldn’t just blab it to Patrick as soon as he pried. But deep down inside he knew that he was doomed; completely doomed.

 

 

Wednesday night came a lot faster than Charlie expected. He figured that if he dreaded it enough, Wednesday just wouldn’t come. But it did. And he quickly decided that he hated Wednesdays. Charlie was in his car, heading for Gregor’s by seven, having already told Patrick that he was going to a Dungeons and Dragons tournament. Charlie smirked to himself, feeling accomplished that he was able to keep the entire plot under wraps. On Saturday, when he returned from the club, he just told Patrick that Gregor refused to see him; he was too busy. Now, he was actually able to lie again and say he was going somewhere else. He just wondered how long it would be before the whole thing blew up in his face. Would Patrick ever speak to him again when he found out? At the moment that was the least of his worries. For now he had to worry about the two porno videos he’d be starring in that evening. Gregor had emailed him the details, along with specific instructions on how to prepare himself for getting fucked.

“I am so totally fucked.” Charlie said under his breath. At the behest of his GPS, he pulled into the indicated driveway. Someone was already at the door to greet him, and take his jacket. Charlie couldn’t tell the gender of the person who took his jacket, but he was introduced to them as Jules, so that clearly made things easier.

Gregor’s house was so clean and fancy, that he forgot for a second that he was just about to engage in the dirtiest act imaginable: making porn with strangers.

“Gregor’s already upstairs.” Jules hinted plainly. The voice gave way to a tiny dash of masculinity, so Charlie decided to assume that Jules was a guy; a very stoic, boring looking guy.

 

Charlie’s feet turned into cinderblock as he made his way up the stairs slowly. He heard a few men talking casually, and it sounded like a normal conversation until he heard “you will fuck him from behind…” amidst other words he couldn’t hear. He gave an unenthusiastic knock on the door at the top of the steps, secretly hoping that no one would hear it. His hopes went unfulfilled, however. The door was opened immediately after he knocked, and he was led into a small hallway attached to two large bedrooms and a bathroom. Gregor was messing with a video camera on a tripod when Charlie entered the scene-of-the-crime, so to speak.

 

The huge king-sized bed looked to Charlie like a monster ready to eat him, even more so than the two guys who were eyeing him up and down like he was dessert. He had to admit, the guys Gregor picked were very handsome. They were dressed in white tees and blue spandex briefs; matching porn stars. Charlie was suddenly mortified when he realized that he forgot to switch out from his Spongebob-themed underwear that Patrick had gotten for him. Now more than ever, he wished he could just leave. Or turn into a gelatinous puddle and ooze under the door. That would work too.

 

But there would be no leaving. Gregor came up from behind Charlie, and clasped his shoulders briefly.

“You ready to make video? You look good. Mmmm… You smell good too.” Gregor indulged in a long whiff of Charlie’s neck. Charlie tried not to punch the pervert.

“Do… I get undressed now? Or…”

“Not until the video starts. Your partner will undress you…. Now who goes first… Hmmmm…” Gregor looked over the two hunks who were practically drooling at the sight of the fresh meat. “Anton, you get to pop his cherry. But first, pop your pills.” Gregor handed the twenty-something blond a blue pill. It was swallowed dry, but Gregor gave him some water anyway.

The energy of the room quickly shifted, and it was becoming more apparent that doomsday was arriving; Charlie would be getting his virginity taken away very, very shortly. He quivered relentlessly with anxiety. He wondered if it would be possible to faint; maybe then he would get out of it.

“Alright, let’s get into action, everyone.” Gregor rallied the two stars, Charlie and Anton, to the edge of the bed. He gave them a quick pep talk, which Charlie heard none of. He was still in shock; completely stage-frightened and unable to move.

 

Then it started. Before he knew what was happening, Gregor was back behind the camera, and Anton made his move. A light brush of a finger on his cheek snapped him out of his daze. Anton appeared to be patient, and understanding of Charlie’s nervousness. He waited for Charlie to come back to earth before saying his line, “I know I said I’d sleep in the other room, but I just can’t resist you. You’re so hot.” Then there were kisses down his neck. Nice kisses; nothing too aggressive. Charlie knew his line; he just had to blurt it out. “O-Oh?” He stammered. “You think I’m hot? I didn’t know you were gay.”

Charlie ignored the terrible lines; he knew they were part of the ‘closeted gay virgin’ genre. How he knew that, he did not know.

 

Anton paused the kissing and sucking just long enough to say his line. “I didn’t know _you_ were gay.”

 

“I’m not... I mean… I think I might be.”

Anton looked Charlie in the eye, with a truly talented look of feigned surprise. “You mean you’ve never?...”

“No, I haven’t.” The situation started to ring true to reality, making it easier for Charlie.

“Well don’t worry. I’ll be real gentle.” Anton promised, hugging Charlie close and then kissing him soundly on the lips. Charlie had little experience kissing, so he let Anton do most of the work. But he couldn’t deny how nice it felt. Anton was a very good kisser. But very quickly, Charlie was reminded that they weren’t just there to recite some lines and kiss; they were there to fuck. Anton made quick work of Charlie’s clothes, and before he knew it, he was just in his Spongebob underwear. Anton didn’t even blink. He kissed his way down Charlie’s slim, yet not very muscled stomach, and slid the underwear off with professional ease. Charlie thanked a higher power that he was not completely flaccid; his cock had given quite the attempt to swell. If this were the same scenario with Patrick instead of Anton, Charlie would be more than up for it. He would probably be close to orgasm at this point. But sex with a total stranger made his anxiety level peak almost to maximum, and his mental arousal seemed miles away; he was glad that his body seemed to be getting some enjoyment out of it.

“Charlie, take Anton’s clothes off.” Gregor hissed.

Charlie tried to obey, but he could hardly get his hands to cooperate. Anton helped out some, and in seconds they were both completely naked and kissing again. Charlie knew he shouldn’t just stand there like a cardboard cutout, so he decided that he would initiate something. Without looking, Charlie reached out to touch Anton’s cock, which was getting harder by the minute; it must have been the Viagra, because Charlie knew he wasn’t being very sexy. But he was trying. He was also trying not to think about how large Anton was getting. Just when he thought the man was fully hard, it seemed to get even bigger under his delicate stroking. Anton was stroking him too, evidently. He didn’t know when it had started, but he noticed when it suddenly felt really good. Where’d he get the lube? Oh well.

Charlie knew that things were going to shift soon, and he just wanted to get it over with.

“I want you to fuck me.” He blushed beet red as he improvised.

“Get on the bed.” Anton ordered with lust in his tone.

Charlie did as he was told, mounting the enormous bed with some struggle and then lying down in the middle. Anton seemed to float, with how easily he got onto the bed, and in no time he was lying atop Charlie. He barely noticed Gregor moving the camera to the other side of the bed, in order to get a better shot of the action.

“You are so hot.” Anton stated in-between languid, messy kisses. Their two cocks slid together, slick with lubricant that was applied by the more experienced of the two. This went on for a while, and Charlie was genuinely impressed with himself for how long his half-mast erection was holding up. Gregor was losing patience. “Anton, why don’t you try a few fingers?”

Charlie tried not to gasp at the mention of being penetrated. He knew this was coming; he might as well just let it happen. After all, this was for Patrick. He would do anything for Patrick.

Anton held up to his promise to be gentle. He propped up Charlie’s hips with a large fluffy pillow, lifting his ass a little higher for easy access. Charlie felt warm fingers exploring his asshole, rubbing generous amounts of lubricant all around it and occasionally dipping a fingertip inside just to get him used to the idea. Charlie forced himself to relax, but he knew it wasn’t enough; this was going to hurt like hell.

Then without verbal warning, Anton plunged two fingers right inside Charlie’s tight heat.

Charlie jumped, but bit back his yelp of surprise. A hand jerked his cock gently while two fingers fucked him at a slow, merciful pace. He knew this would feel amazing if he weren’t so nervous.

The blonde porn star tried to encourage Charlie with a litany of dirty talk like “God you’re so fucking tight” and “You’re doing so good.” None of which actually comforted Charlie in the least bit; it just reminded him that people would be watching him on the internet; seeing him be explored and fucked as he was right now. The sound of a condom wrapper tearing drew Charlie back to the present; this time he was getting fucked for real.

Anton flipped Charlie over onto his stomach, and pulled his ass up so he was on all fours. So that’s how it was going down, huh? Perhaps he should have paid more attention to Gregor’s instructions in the beginning. Charlie felt excruciating, sharp pain at the rim of his asshole: Anton trying to get in. It wasn’t going to work, was it? Charlie remembered how full he felt with just two fingers. How the hell did Anton expect to fit?

But it happened. Somehow, after lots of wincing and stifled cries, Charlie felt Anton slide into his tight passage. It burned like a motherfucker. He couldn’t have imagined it feeling this bad. It felt like someone had just skewered him on a telephone pole. He had tried to tell himself that once they were past the barrier, it would be easy. But really, it was just the beginning. His ring of muscle felt stretched to the max, and his insides were being stretched just as much. Charlie was in such a state of shock that he couldn’t tell if the moans he heard were coming from him or Anton, but they were very, very loud. They were moans that could be perceived as pleasure or pain; he was pretty sure they were his own.

Charlie was just finding the words to speak, to maybe ask Anton to wait a few seconds, but it was too late. Anton was done being patient, it seemed. The moment the cock inside him gave an in-and-out motion, Charlie’s arms turned to jelly and his head hit a pillow. He silently wished that the pillow would smother him and make him pass out. But he had no such luck. Anton pulled Charlie’s head up by his long hair, forcing him into the right positioning again. Charlie screamed aloud from the overload of sensations; it wasn’t until after he screamed that he realized that it sounded pleasured, not tortured, like he really felt. He had no idea how long they’d been going at it, when Anton finally came, groaning and convulsing, and still inside Charlie’s sore, tender ass. Charlie had also climaxed at some point (evidenced by the small streak of semen on the bedspread) but he didn’t remember it. Panting, and heaving, Charlie passed out on the bed, completely spent. He was left alone for a good ten minutes, while Anton cleaned up and Gregor reviewed parts of the tape, but he was then rudely awoken by a pat on the cheek: the other porn star; looking all too eager to make the next video. Charlie groaned. He was royally fucked.


	16. Reparations

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Patrick wasted no time in drilling Charlie the moment he got home early Thursday morning.

“I told you, I was at Sean’s for D&D.” Charlie tried to conceal his painful limp as he walked across the living room to drop his computer bag onto the couch.

“No you weren’t. I called Sean, he said you flaked out.”

Charlie cringed visibly; from both the literal and figurative pain in his ass. He tried the no-response technique, hoping Patrick would drop it. He didn’t.

“Are you going to tell me? Is this about Gregor?” Patrick almost hit the nail on the head, and Charlie had to stop the line of questioning in its tracks, before his brother found out.

“I was out having sex, okay?” Charlie snapped in frustration. He wasn’t really lying, but he knew he was giving Patrick all the wrong messages; or the right ones, since he didn’t want Patrick to know the whole truth.

“Oh.”

Charlie searched Patrick’s eyes for some sort of sign as to what he was feeling; nothing. No emotion registered on Patrick’s face, except maybe a tiny glint of relief. It hurt Charlie’s feelings, to say the least. He wished that Patrick was jealous; he wished that he would be at least a little angry.

“I’m going to get ready for work.” Charlie grumbled. He limped into his bedroom and all but slammed the door. This was already turning out to be a really bad day.

 

 

And it only got worse. Charlie returned from work feeling hungry, sore, and more than a little grumpy. Due to the excruciating soreness in his ass, he had to stand all day at work, earning him more than a few knowing chuckles and sneers from his coworkers. He knew he was the hot topic of conversation around the water cooler, and probably would be for the following week as well.

 

But what Charlie came home to really beat all. Worse than gossip, worse than ridicule, worse than all the soreness and pain in his body, was finding Patrick at the kitchen table with a laptop in front of him.

 

“What. The. Fuck.” Patrick articulated perfectly. It seemed like he had already gotten over his initial shock, and was reenacting his reaction upon Charlie’s untimely return.

“It’s not as bad as you think…” Charlie automatically defended. He knew what Patrick was looking at; worse yet he knew _who_ he was looking at.

“Not that bad?!” Patrick looked angry. He looked really, really angry. He stood from his chair, and looked at the laptop. For half a second it looked like he might throw it on the floor. But he didn’t; he thought better of it. Instead he lifted in the air and swung it at Charlie like a mad man. “You’re in a fucking porno! You let those dirty fucking cocksuckers fuck you!”

“I did it for you!” Charlie was trying to defend himself from the wild blows he was receiving from the irate redhead. The laptop was already a goner; there was no point in try to save it now. Charlie knew that Patrick wouldn’t really hurt him; he just needed to blow off some steam. He grabbed the one thing nearest to him that could serve as a defense: a broom. And it served him well. To a third party it would look like quite the comical duel: broom handle versus laptop. The keyboard is mightier than the sword…

 

Charlie fended off the laptop Patrick wielded until he saw an opportunity and grabbed it with both hands, holding onto it with all his might. The broom dropped to the ground between them. Charlie noticed the stream of tears on Patrick’s face. He also noticed just how close they were now; both holding the very large, useless piece of broken technology. He could kiss Patrick right then; make passionate, angry sex right there on the kitchen table.

 

 

But he didn’t.   Instead he said, “Gregor said he would delete the videos of you if I would make replacement ones. That’s all; I promise.” Charlie spoke in a quiet tone, hoping to end the argument, not to continue it. He pulled the laptop away and threw it on the floor, not caring where it landed.

“I’m sorry about the laptop.” Patrick mumbled under his breath.

“It’s okay; I’ll get a new one.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s broken, you meathead. Don’t you see, it’s in like, three pieces-”

“No, I mean why would you do the videos, for me?” Patrick’s eyes brimmed with sadness and hurt.

“Because I love you.” Charlie said without hesitation. “I am over-the-moon, to-the-stars-and-back in love with you. And not to mention a little bat-shit crazy, too.”

Patrick gave a solitary laugh at the last comment. He leaned into Charlie’s chest, allowing the long arms to envelop him in a hug, and listened to the loud thudding of a beating heart for a few minutes. Charlie wondered if Patrick had perhaps fallen asleep, when suddenly he heard a muffled, “I can’t believe you would do that for me.” Patrick pulled away just enough to look into Charlie’s eyes. “And I also don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get those images out of my head… God it looked like that hurt.”

“It did.” Charlie admitted with a contrite smile. “Still does.”

“They didn’t like… tear you or anything, did they?”

“No, it’s just sore.” The brunet reassured. He allowed a long pause before adding, “But I am missing one testicle.”

“You what?!”

“Kidding…” Charlie grinned and hugged Patrick tighter. “I’ll be good as new in a week.”

“Good.”

 

“But does it _always_ hurt that much?”

 

 

 

 

Charlie went to work the next day, and Patrick sat at home, wondering what he could do. He looked around the apartment; it could really use a good cleaning. It wasn’t really cluttered, or particularly messy, but the finer cleaning elements such as dusting and vacuuming had gone undone for a very long time, giving the apartment a stale and generally grungy type of feel.  But he had no motivation to clean. What he really needed was a pick-me-up. He already tried caffeine and sugar and got little results; certainly not enough to clean the whole apartment.

Something gnawed at the back of his mind, however; a strange feeling like there was something he was supposed to do; something he really, really should do. He thought about Gregor, and what Charlie had done to undo the damage Gregor so vindictively caused. He wished there was something he could do to take Gregor out of business all together.

 

Then it hit him.

 

Then he knew what to do.

 

 

Patrick pulled his car into the parking lot, feeling a little bit of his coffee come back into his throat. He swallowed, wincing at the taste of acid in his mouth. He was so nervous. He wasn’t even this nervous his first night pole dancing at the strip club; and he was sixteen, then. It occurred to him that he might have gotten the wrong place. He hoped he’d gotten the wrong place. Then he could just go home and forget the matter altogether, because he tried. But something in his gut told him that he’d never get any closure for himself unless he did his best. So that is what he would do: his best. But it required him to get out of the car. That was step one.

 

He took a long, long time on step one.

 

After several minutes of procrastination, he was out of the car, and into the building. It was nice and modern looking on the inside, and smelled like paper and cleaning supplies. The pleasant smell did nothing to calm Patrick. He was in the lion’s den; the dragon’s mouth, and several other predatory metaphors. He felt surrounded, and he was.

Scattered all around him, bustling about, paying him no mind, but surrounding him nonetheless, were a dozen cops.

 

Patrick McLeod was surrounded by cops.

 

 

 

“Can I help you?” A nice looking cop asked from the front desk.

Patrick forced his legs to walk, each step feeling like his feet weighed twenty pounds. He stood a safe distance from the desk as he said sheepishly. “I’m looking for the policeman who was investigating the gay club outside of town, about two and a half months ago.”

The policeman smiled, and to Patrick’s amazement it didn’t look like a crocodile grin, the kind that would read ‘how would you like to stay for dinner?’ but instead was a warm, friendly smile,  the kind that read, ‘how would you like to stay for dinner?’

“Judging by your description, you didn’t catch his name.” The cop deduced. His nametag read “Perkins;” A very fitting name for a very perky guy like him. Patrick found him very disarming; charming, even.

“No, I didn’t. I don’t even know if I’ve got the right precinct.” Patrick was proud of his vocabulary right then. And without watching a single episode of Law and Order; golly was he sure a genius.

“You don’t.” Officer Perkins shrugged, still smiling. “But we’ll find him for you. Here, have a seat.”

Patrick obeyed - or obliged - he wasn’t sure which.

“I’ll look on the computer some, and see if I can find any open cases regarding the club. You’re referring to the ‘Boyz Club’, right?”

“Right.” Patrick felt his nervousness melting away under the kind, and polite verbal caresses of the angel behind the desk. He briefly wondered if Perkins was single. But then he brought his mind back to reality, when the officer said “Bingo, I’ve found your man. You’re looking for Officer Russell Clifton. He’s based out of another station, but I can call him for you.”

 “Thanks.” Patrick hoped he hadn’t looked like a complete idiot walking into a police station saying ‘I don’t know who I’m looking for, but I need to find one specific cop.’

Perkins quickly dialed a number on the phone perched on the desk, and waited for someone to answer. Someone finally did. Perkins perked up and said, “Officer Clifton, this is Perkins. Yes, hi, how are you?”

Patrick could have mistaken the official business phone call to be a personal one, because they chatted for at least a minute before Perkins changed subjects.

“I’ve got a young man here wanting to speak with you. It’s about the gay club down the road... Yes I think he is. He looks gay.”

Patrick instantly blushed, and glanced around to see if any of the other cops were tuned in to the situation. They were not.

“I don’t know, I’ll ask him.” Perkins removed the phone from his face and said, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ummm…. Phoenix. I guess.” Patrick mentally slapped himself in the face for being such an idiot. But oh well. There was no going back now.

“He says his name is Phoenix.” The cop informed the other over the phone. “Obviously a stripper name.”

Patrick tuned out the rest of the conversation as he mulled over what exactly he was going to say to Officer Clifton. After a few minutes Perkins hung up the phone. He looked at ‘Phoenix’ with a smile.

“Cliffy’s on his way. He was on patrol anyway, so he’ll be here in two minutes.”

“Should I wait right here?” Patrick hoped that maybe he could get away from the swarm of police officers.

“Well, you could wait in Interview Room One if you want…”

“No thanks.” Patrick squeaked involuntarily. He didn’t need to watch crime shows to know what the word “interview” meant in Cop Lingo.  “I’ll wait here.”

 

True to his word, Officer Russell Clifton, aka: Cliffy, aka: Square, strolled into the police station, clad in all his standard-issue glory, in two minutes flat. He looked sexier without his uniform, Patrick thought. Although it’d been almost three months, Patrick’s image of the cop who infiltrated the club in order to get information out of him was burned into his memory forever. And the guy hadn’t changed a bit.

“Hello, Phoenix. Thanks for coming in.” The officer extended his hand, and Patrick feebly allowed the man to shake his. Perkins had left his chair unattended, so Clifton went around the long way so he could sit behind a desk; he looked so official.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, actually. I was wondering what I could do for you.” Patrick thought of that little tidbit all by himself.

“How do you mean?”

“I want Gregor – or, Andrei – or whatever his name is, to go down. I want him out of business. I want to help.”

“Great.” Clifton smiled a genuine smile. He pulled out a small tape recorder and set it on the table.

“I’m not going to get into trouble am I? Do I have…. You know… immunity?” On second thought, maybe he should have watched more cop shows.

Clifton laughed. “You’re my anonymous tipster. How about that?”

Patrick gave a nervous laugh while he contemplated continuing. Would Clifton keep his word? He decided it was worth the risk. He reached over and turned on the tape recorder.

“I guess I should start at the beginning...”

 

 

Patrick sat in his car an hour later, grateful to be alive. He’d gotten everything off his chest regarding Gregor and the club, and the officer seemed to be grateful as well. They exchanged phone numbers, and Patrick was about to ask for Officer Perkins’ digits, but changed his mind at the last moment. Hitting on an officer was just pushing it too much. His first time in a police station since adulthood had gone so well. It was best not to get greedy.

 

While he was in the business of closure, however, a thought crossed his mind. A thought so crazy, that Patrick felt his own forehead for a sign of a fever. He knew in his heart that he should fulfill that thought; but not alone. For this one, he would have to bring Charlie. And for some strange reason, he just couldn’t wait to ask.

 

The weekend came as a Godsend; Charlie was tired of the cajoling at work, and he looked forward to helping Patrick go out and look for a job. Their livelihood was in trouble if they didn’t have an increase in income, and fast. Their emergency cash fund was entirely spent up for the month; they were running on fumes.

When Charlie arrived home, he smelled the air; it was a pleasant, clean smell. Patrick walked out of the bathroom wearing an apron, and holding a frilly duster in his hand. Charlie laughed at the sight.

“Good, your home. I’ve made something for you.” Patrick beamed ecstatically. He completely ignored Charlie’s reaction to his getup. Charlie was surprised when Patrick returned from the kitchen with a card. It was red, with pink hearts on it. Obviously homemade, by the looks of it, and thoughtfully crafted. Charlie opened the card. In perfect print handwriting, it read: _Charlie, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re the best brother in the world._

Charlie smiled and closed the card. He looked at Patrick. “You really made this for me?”

“Yes. Four years ago. I found it under my bed in an old box while I was cleaning.”

“I don’t remember it…”

“That’s because I never gave it to you. I don’t know why, I guess I forgot.”

“Why did you make it? Do you recall that at least?”

“Remember Henry Tavish?”

“That jerk who framed you for cheating on your Spanish test? Of course I do.”

“Well, I made that card after you turned him in to the school principal.”

“That’s it? I mean, I’d gotten you out of worse shit than that.”

“I know. Maybe that’s why I decided not to give you the card. I probably thought it was cheesy.”  
“It is.” Charlie deadpanned. He waited a moment before adding, “But it is also really, really sweet. You’ve never made me anything before.”

“I know. And it took forever; I remember.”

Charlie looked over the card again, admiring the handiwork. “Yeah all these hearts must have taken a long time to cut out.”

“No, it was the handwriting that I slaved over; took forever for me to write in a straight line.”

Patrick and Charlie shared a chuckle, and Charlie drew Patrick into an appreciative hug.

“You know, the card still applies.” Patrick confessed quietly. “I am really grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Yeah, well. I’m sure you would have done the same thing for me.”

“Not really; I’m the one with the irrational fear of being on the internet.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore; I’m afraid you’re a ghost again. You do not exist, as far as the ‘inter-web’ is concerned.”

“But what about your blog?”

“I deleted it.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide. “Why? It’s basically your diary.”

“Well, it was a website for a spurned, unrequited love. A love that is no longer spurned or unrequited, I’m pleased to say.”

Patrick smiled warily, not sure what to think. Was Charlie pressuring him into saying that they were an item? Officially together?

Charlie saw the look in Patrick eyes, and decided to clarify.  “You know how much I love you. And that’s enough for me. I don’t need anything more.”

“You mean not for another six months or so, right?” Patrick half-joked, referring to Charlie’s history of abstinence.

“I mean not for another twenty-two years or so.” Charlie hugged the redhead even tighter this time.  
Patrick knew that Charlie meant it, and it made him very happy. He knew that things were going to be okay between them. And better yet, he knew that very soon he may be able to let go of Ben.

 

 Very soon, he may truly be in love.

 


	17. Never-Evers

“Charlie?” Patrick approached the brunet from behind, and wrapped his arms around the tall, slim torso. They were in the kitchen, Charlie’s favorite place in the apartment. Patrick wondered how the guy was even remotely skinny with how much he ate, and never exercised, save for two or three bike rides to and from work each week.

Charlie was cooking pancakes for their Sunday breakfast. He was currently shuffling the pan back and forth, to see if the pancake was ready to flip.

“Yes Patrick?”

“I’ve been thinking lately, and I think I’ve decided on something. But I need you to come with me.”

“Yes?”

“Will you go to Percy’s with me?”

Charlie’s jaw dropped in shock; and so did the frying pan. Luckily, it landed on the stovetop, and not the floor. He turned off the burner and whirled around to face Patrick, who was looking up at him, inches away from his face.

“You want to go see Percy? _Percy_ , Percy? _That_ Percy?”

“I think it would be good.”

“No, no. It would not be good!” Charlie exclaimed incredulously. “Pat, you’ve just been getting better! Paying a visit to the dude who essentially _killed_ your Ben would not be good!”

“Percy didn’t kill Ben, okay?” Patrick’s eyes began filling with tears. Charlie instantly regretted bringing it up.

“If Percy killed Ben, then I am just as guilty, okay?” Patrick said with an incoming sob behind his voice. He hugged Charlie, burying his face in his chest. “Ben would have never even dated Percy if I had just let him love me...”

“I’m sorry.” Charlie said in his softest of tones. He was nearly rendered speechless by Patrick’s ultimatum. As far as he had known, Patrick had a murderous grudge against Percy. He was happy, yet mystified, that things had changed.

“We can go see him. We _should_ see him.”

“After pancakes?” Said Patrick, muffled from still being smooshed against Charlie’s t-shirt.

Charlie smiled. “After pancakes.”

 

 

 

Patrick got the nerve to ring the doorbell this time. When it went unanswered, he knocked instead. Then he knocked harder.

“Maybe no one’s home.” Charlie offered quietly.

Patrick wouldn’t have it. He took his fist and pounded on the door loudly. Finally, the door opened. A tall, pleasantly pudgy young man opened the door, obviously wary of whom he would find on his front steps.

“Can I help you?” The man’s voice was a little ragged; it sounded like he had a bad cold.

Patrick wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. The onset of what used to be Ben’s problems was obviously happening to the man standing before him. It was too much. Patrick started to shake.

“Are you Percy?” Charlie asked politely.

“I am. Who are you?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Can we come in?”

Charlie placed a steadying hand on Patrick’s quaking frame. Percy made a welcoming gesture, and the two walked in together.

“Can I get you two some tea?

“Sure.”

The three of them sat in a living room the size of the boys’ entire apartment. The house was huge. It wasn’t in a particularly immaculate condition though; quite the opposite, really. The house lay in cluttered disarray, dirty and a little odorous. Patrick and Charlie effectively ignored the mess; they were young adult males, after all.

A middle aged woman in nurse’s garb came from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea for the guests, and for Percy. Once they were all holding a cup of fine china with piping hot tea, Percy inquired, “How can I help you gentlemen?”

Patrick sat in awe at how this man, surely facing imminent death, and having been at least partly responsible for another’s, could sit here in such a decadent mess and still be so damn polite. It almost made him angry. Almost.

“We were friends of Ben.” Charlie stated frankly, not knowing how else to put it.

“Oh.” If Percy could have gone paler than he already was, he did. He looked at the two of them, trying to figure out who they were by memory. He looked at the little redhead. “You’re Patrick;” Then at the brunet. “You’re Charlie.”

“Yes.” Patrick finally said something. “We’re here to visit. We’re… very sorry… about your loss.” Patrick managed to remember that he wasn’t the only one to lose Ben.

“As am I for yours.” Percy shifted in his wingback chair, looking very uncomfortable. “I hear you never left his side.”

“I didn’t.”

“He was happy, then?”

“He was.”

“Good.” Percy looked around him, perhaps to see if the nurse was anywhere around. Or, to make sure she _wasn’t_ around. Satisfied, he turned back to the boys. “Are you here to kill me?” He whispered.

 

Charlie’s eyes went wide; Patrick almost laughed.

“You serious?” Patrick said incredulously.

“No, Percy. We’re here as friends.” Charlie tried to diffuse the assumption.

“Oh. Well that’s too bad. I was really hoping I’d get lucky.” Percy smiled, as if joking, although he wasn’t really.

“We just want you to know that I don’t hold anything against you, Percy.” Patrick couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. But they were true. Amazingly, they were true.

“You loved Ben, didn’t you.” Percy stated, rather than asked.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“And you expect me to believe that you ‘forgive me?’ That you ‘absolve me’ of any wrongdoing?” There was only silence, so he continued. “I don’t believe you. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

It was Charlie’s turn to talk, and what came out his mouth startled both Percy and Patrick. “You self-loathing bastard.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just can’t forgive _yourself_ , can you?” Charlie set the cup of bitter tea on the coffee table a little harshly, and some sloshed onto the carpet. He paid it no mind.

“You are responsible for an innocent man’s death. You slept around, got careless, and because of it, Patrick’s one true love is dead. Ben was a sweet, generous, and talented man who loved Patrick more than anything in the world. Now he’s gone. And it’s eating you alive.”

Percy looked visibly shaken up from Charlie’s even-toned outburst of sorts. He didn’t know what to say. Patrick spoke instead. “Charlie, it’s okay.”

“No, he’s right.” Percy breathed out reluctantly. He looked directly at Charlie. “You’re right. I won’t forgive myself. I did sleep with another person while dating Ben. It was a one-time thing, but I know that’s no excuse. It was the worst decision of my life, and, unfortunately, one of my last.” A few tears slipped past Percy’s resolve. “I wanted to see him, to apologize, but his family was there, and I just couldn’t face them… I mean, I took their brother away!”

Patrick had a few tears streaming down his face, but it had little to do with what Percy said. He just missed Ben. He missed his smile, his warm hugs, his humor, and his waffles. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t for a moment be angry at Percy for taking all of that away; for exterminating his only love in life. Why? It must have had to do with the fact that Percy was well on his way to death as well. Patrick could hardly feel angry at someone who would be getting the ultimate punishment rather shortly.

Sort of as a change of subject in the conversation, Patrick asked, “How long do you have?”

“Well… So far I’ve gotten a bit luckier than Ben, I’m afraid. My virus wasn’t as mutated as his. I have at least another couple of years; a decade if I stay healthy.”

“Sorry to hear that…” Patrick let the meaning hang in the air; it could be taken any way Percy wished.

 

“Well I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, or Ben. I am very glad that he was loved. He deserved that.”

“He did. But he deserved better than me.” Patrick confessed.

“No, I don’t think so.” Percy wiped his tears with a monogrammed handkerchief he drew from his breast pocket. “Anyone who can forgive a man such as myself, even after all I’ve done, is surely deserved of Ben’s love, and vise versa.”

“Thank you.” Patrick acknowledged, and stood to leave. “And thank you for the tea.”

All three said quiet goodbyes, and the two boys left.

 

Patrick somehow made it until they’d gotten home before he burst into tears. And boy, was it a doozey. He was already hyperventilating and hiccupping by the time Charlie made it in through the door with his things.

“Oh, Pat.” Charlie dropped his bags and rushed to Patrick, ready and willing to comfort.

“I can’t handle this, I just can’t!” A nearly incomprehensible sentence amongst all the sobs, sniffles, and tears.

“Oh, Pat. It’s okay.” Charlie hugged Patrick close, and although he didn’t pull away, he didn’t exactly hug back either. He just stood there, crying his heart out, with his arms at his sides, and his head resting on Charlie’s chest. They stayed that way for a few minutes, before Patrick spoke again. His voice sounded so congested. “I need help, Charlie, I need you. My heart hurts _so much_ … Make it stop! Please.”

Charlie wished with all his heart he could make it stop. But he knew that only Patrick could go through his own grief.

“Patrick, I need you to listen to me.” Charlie got really serious, but he kept his voice gentle and calm. Patrick stifled another sob, and looked up at Charlie briefly, as sort of a permission to go on.

Charlie did. “All your life you’ve been running from emotions. You’ve been used, abused, and hurt more times than I know. You’ve been through so much and the only way you knew how to survive it was to choose not to feel. But then your life changed. Martha took you in; took _us_ in. And then instead of just protecting yourself, you were hurting others by shutting everyone out. You were hurting Martha, and you were hurting me. We loved on you the best we could. Ben loved on you the best he could… And all of that’s done now: you’re feeling things again; and as much as it hurts, it’s a good thing; a really, really, really good thing. As much as it means you will feel the bad emotions, it also means you will feel the good. And you will feel good, Patrick. I promise, as soon as this is over, you will be happy. I will make you happy.” Charlie took Patrick’s chin in his hand, and tilted it up, so Patrick had no other choice but to look at him. “If you’ll let me.”

Patrick could only nod, and despite his tears, he smiled. He kissed Charlie soundly on the lips. Pleasantly surprised, Charlie smiled through the kiss, and kept it going.  And going, and going. Before long, Patrick’s tears had all gone away; all that remained were the soft, light, and very romantic kisses they shared right there in the living room. And it needn’t be more. Even though they both had very significant arousals that needed to be addressed eventually, they were both just content to kiss slowly for a long, long time.

 

“Are we going to take this anywhere?” Patrick finally asked when Charlie gave his lips a small break.

“Well, I plan to marry you, eventually.” Charlie answered honestly.

“No I meant, right now; like, you know; the bedroom.” Patrick rebutted before he fully realized what Charlie had just said. The response sunk in for a moment, and then, “Do you really mean that?”

“I really do. I want to marry you, Patrick. You’re the only person I’ve ever pictured myself affectionately tolerating exclusively for the rest of my life.” Charlie smiled, knowing that Patrick would take the playful banter for what it was.

“Oh really? Because I thought maybe you were madly in love with me. My mistake.” Patrick pretended to push away, but Charlie would have none of it. He only pulled him tighter, and pulled him into an even more passionate kiss. Patrick melted under Charlie’s fervor, and let himself be swept away. When Charlie stopped he said quietly, “Will you marry me Patrick?”

 

 

 

“Fuck Yes.”

 

 

 

 

Months later, Charlie and Patrick were married. They had a small ceremony at a courthouse. Erika and Brianna witnessed it, and later that day Erika and her partner Kinza got married too.

Charlie took Patrick’s name, just because he’d always loved the sound of it; Charlie McLeod definitely had a nice ring to it. They moved into a smaller, less expensive apartment because Patrick couldn’t find another job in time. But the drastic dive in rent cost gave them enough money to go on a nice honeymoon to Ireland, where Patrick’s heritage lay. He and Charlie spent two weeks backpacking the bluffs, pastures, and cliff sides, and making love in a pop-tent. Their first night, however, was spent in a hotel, where they made love for the first time in over six months. Charlie’s proposal a few months prior had been very romantic, but it just didn’t seem right to have sex until Patrick was really, truly his (and he was truly Patrick’s.) That night he’d ended up jerking off alone in the bathroom, picturing Patrick and feeling very human indeed. Patrick was grateful for the wait. Not because he didn’t want sex, of course, but it was a good emotional break for him.

 

After the wedding, he was no longer Ben’s lover, or Charlie’s roommate, but Charlie’s husband.

 

And true to Charlie’s promise, he was happy. He was very, very happy. His heart was glad, and filled with excitement and love.

 

Love.

 

Something Patrick never ever thought he would surrender himself to. But that was far behind him now.

 

 

 

And furthest behind him, a state ever so impossible to return to was his empty heart.

 

And ever so impossible to imagine: Martha, Erika, Ben, and most of all Charlie, had filled his heart, nearly to bursting.

Sure, it was much more troubling and complicated to feel. Emotions could be so confusing and deceiving. But it was worth it; Charlie was worth it. And as he lay in the arms of his husband – he knew he would never get used to that word – nothing could be better. He couldn’t be happier. Patrick stroked a pattern with his finger on Charlie’s cheek while he slept. He kissed the motionless lips and then watched as Charlie smiled, still sleeping.

 

All was well.

 

 

“Goodbye, empty heart.”

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada!! The End. Hope you all enjoyed this story. Let me know what you think! (But be nice, k?)


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